


baby loves when daddy gets high

by octobertwo (cheshirebottom)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: American Harry, Anal Sex, Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, French Louis, Harry del rey, Harry has always lusted over Louis, Harry is Lana Del Rey basically, I'm so lazy to tag :( just maybe expect some rimming or any of the bumming really, Louis buys Harry YSL stuff, Louis spoils his baby, Louis takes Harry to Coney Island obviously, M/M, Set in America, So the smut thing, Sub Harry, Top Louis, tomlinshaw friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:09:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 59,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirebottom/pseuds/octobertwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au set in los angeles where harry sings in dive bars and hooks up with men twice his age; french painter fresh from paris louis may or may not end up being the sugar daddy he's been looking for.</p>
<p>[alternatively as: louis is a millionaire with a slight affinity for narcotics and harry just wants to be the coney island queen.]</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <i>"daddy gets high, but daddy takes care of business."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry Del Rey ♡♡

**Author's Note:**

> hello !! giving full credit to the genius and brilliant singer-songwriter lana del rey™ for all her songs used throughout this fan fic.
> 
> there are french words from time to time, all translated by my wonderful baby **swann** (thank you :*), since louis is a frenchman in this fic, but no worries though because i also got them translated in english :~)
> 
> as for harry's character, he's not british here. he's an american, so don't get confused for his lack of ~british terming~ when conversing :)
> 
> wonderful and perfectly articulated betas are given by the marvellous, most enthralling piece of gucci brand, my bambi girl **kezza** :* she's so, so great. thank you, dove!!!!!
> 
> okay, read at your own risk! smut is juicy :3
> 
> \- L

♡♡♡♡

Louis looks through his window as he clutches his paintbrush, gazing at the massive picturesque gardens, with a magnificent pool that's the shade of cerulean nestled in the midst of the freshly cut grass, and then holds up his palette.

He breathes out through his nose, letting the breathtaking view take root in the crevices of his mind, and then he paints.

Painting is something that he can easily lose himself in, it's an age old routine that he mastered years ago that allows him to sink into a blissful brand of artistic autopilot.

After thirty minutes of letting his paintbrushes convey things that his mind could never begin to articulate into words, Louis backs away a bit to look at the masterpiece he's making and sighs. _Not good enough_ , the voice in his head tells him menacingly, he needs to do better.

He sets down the brush and palette then wipes at the stray sweat that he can feel trickling slowly across his temple and turns around, taking the glass of juice Valeria left on the nightstand beside his bed. Louis takes a sip, eyes blinking against the sun, gaze fixated directly at the house that is nestled beside his own.

 _Del Rey_ , he thinks. He _sees_ , right there, getting out of his posh, vintage car and taking his guitar with him.

Dressed in floral sheer shirt, dark skinny jeans--they look tighter than normal, he notes--and his trademark gold boots reflecting the sunbeam perfectly. His curls have gone longer, headscarf holding it in a loose demure, once pinkish pale skin from last month now reddish tan. Louis lowers down his drink, eyes never leaving the sight, mind momentarily mesmerized by the fact his neighbor has possibly grown a pair of...

" _Ses fesses_ (That arse)," Louis murmurs to himself, eyelids getting heavier without his consent. His eyes just can't help ogle those...oh God.

And then he blinks rapidly, dragging him out of the trance that he quickly fell under. This isn't like him, he's startled even by his own attitude. He turns away from the window, cheeks heating rapidly when he catches a glimpse of heavily-lashed eyes staring back directly at his own--his neighbor has a knowing smirk on his face that holds the implication that he caught Louis checking him out. _Checking his arse out._ Louis' heart crawls up his throat in mortification.

Fuck. Shit, shit, shit. Louis' screwed. All of the subtlety--all of the guises of seeming mysterious and carefully acting like he is disinterested in his neighbor--has been for naught; he knows that Del Rey caught him practically salivating over them and he couldn't possibly be more embarrassed.

It's been several months since Louis moved to this side of the town, and during the first few days he must admit he was quick to take notice of his gorgeously handsome--no, not handsome. He's more than that, really, his features put him under the definition of beautiful, or ethereal. He's just. Insanely attractive, and Louis wants to paint the elegant curvatures of his body for hours on end--neighbor.

And he watched him from afar as he went out to do mundane things like take out the trash or pick up the daily newspaper; but this is the first time that Louis' been caught. With full on eye-to-eye contact and everything. Louis laughs under his breath at himself, his heart rate still racing from the seconds long contact, like he's a teenager once again, a young boy that has just spoken to his crush for the first time.

But he can't help it, the eye contact was just so intense; it felt like Del Rey was drawing him to be seduced into staring longer, until he has drowned in his eyes and lost all of his sensibilities. It felt like in the span of four seconds, Del Rey was able to provoke Louis into ogling his arse some more with something as simple as the movement of cherry-blossom lips forming into a smirk.

_More, Louis. More._

Louis swallows hard, then looks around his room in sheer panic. He considers calling his maid to distract him but quickly decides against it, and then just settling on taking a deep breath, before swiftly turning back around to look over yet again at his window, hoping to get another glimpse of Del Rey.

But then all he sees now is the vacant drive way, one that's connected to his neighbor's home.

Louis doesn't know whether to sigh in relief or in disbelief.

~*~

Later on in the afternoon, Louis decides to make a last ditch effort to find inspiration and goes over his cabinet and rifles through his drawers. He withdraws his pipe, handkerchief filled with kush, and his Zippo lighter with a small sound of relief. Maybe he can find a muse this way.

He falls asleep instead.

~*~

Sunlight streams through where his window was pried open by his maid earlier to let fresh air in and Louis is irritated by it.

Summer has officially commenced in California and the sun is demanding that it's ever-so-bright presence be known and constantly in his eyes. Louis has known that California would be like this, he saw the overwhelming abundance of a bright sun and happy skies in the movies that he watched when he still lived in bleak Paris while he was still under his foster parents' care, but that doesn't mean that he still can't be annoyed by it.

He scoffs bitterly at the thought of Paris, even though it was in the past and he refuses to ever let himself dwell over the city and the memories that it harbors for too long. Louis has always had the notion to always, always fucking live in the moment, in the now imprinted in his mind. Louis rolls his eyes at himself because of how absurdly he's thinking again.

_Get it together, Tomlinson._

He swings his legs over the side of his massive bed and sets his feet on the ground, padding across his room and then out, making his way downstairs with his phone in hand.

"Valeria?" He calls out.

Not even a minute has passed and Valeria's immediately right in front of him. " _Oui, monsieur?_ (Yes, sir?)"

" _Apportes-moi ma serviette et ma crème solaire, je veux m'effondrer sur la chaise longue jusqu'à la nuit tombée. Il fait chaud dans ce putain d'état_ (Get my towel and sunscreen, I want to sleep in the pool chair until nighttime. It's too hot in this goddamn state)," Louis tells her, dismissive tone mixed with his trademark raspy voice. Valeria nods twice, and then she's off. Louis proceeds outside where his pool is and sits on one of the pool chairs, waiting for his maid with the sunscreen.

Moments later, Louis is eventually lying on his front in only his black swimming trunks, his back completely bare, all of his tattoos in plain sight. He's got his eyes closed, sunscreen applied to his skin, and yep--Louis really plans on sleeping here until the sun hides from him and all that. Yeah, good plan. Good--

But then his plans are ruined by the doorbell ringing from the living area. Louis scrunches up his nose and calls out, " _Valérie, dites à peu importe qui cette personne est que je suis--_ (Valeria, tell to whoever that is that I'm--),"

But he cuts himself off short when he hears his maid say in turn, " _C'est le voisin, monsieur, il veut vous parler. Il dit qu'il joue de la guitare et serait heureux de se joindre à vous pour jouer_. (The neighbor, sir, he wants a word with you. He says he plays the guitar and would be happy if you jammed.)"

And--what? A neighbor who plays guitar? Louis bolts right up from his relaxed position and immediately grabs for his slippers and runs inside the house, his shirt and towel still laying poolside, completely forgotten.

" _Venez-vous de dire quelque chose au sujet d'une guitare ?_ (Did you just say something about guitar?)" are Louis' first words as his eyes attentively land on the boy he knows is the only neighbor he has who plays said instrument.

" _Ooh_ , French, I like it," the boy with the curls and the red, plump lips drawls in a low, syrupy voice. And, God, he looks even more beautiful in this close proximity. And much more young, too, he notes. Louis must still be dreaming, because--because surely this isn't happening.

Valeria stands beside the two of them, with who Louis has in his head nicknamed Del Rey staying put on the doorstep with a fluid persona, slivers of inked skin on sight (so they do have tattoos, then, Louis' always wondered if he's right on that front), and Louis in just his swimming trunks, looking quite baffled and rooted in the middle of his massively posh living area. Massively posh, Louis mentally scoffs in his head, _but of course, this is Beverly Hills!_

Clearing his throat, Louis suddenly feels rather exposed with his torso missing a top and his feet and soles touching the tiles. Valeria backs away and nods at Louis, breaking the silence that followed once blue has met green. Louis' grateful for it. " _Est-ce que je peux vous apporter à tout deux quelque chose, monsieur? Un verre de jus de fruits et des gâteaux? Dois-je le laisser entrer?_ (Anything I can get you two, sir? Glasses of juice and biscuits? Shall I let him in?)"

Completely out of his depth, Louis only nods at her feeling lost, and then she disappears right back in the kitchen.

"Anything... I can do fo' you?" Louis tries then, swallowing the lasts of the saliva that's dried in his tongue, addressing Del Rey and his unexpected visit. "Forgive me, monsieur." He shakes his head. "I am no very good in Anglais..."

It's true. Louis sucks at speaking English, whether it's American or British, and he feels like an idiot, talking to the person he's been stalking through his window ever since he's moved here in broken English while sunscreen dries uncomfortably on his skin. Perhaps the day that truly tests his English skills has finally come; he's now regretful he did not pay attention to English class back in the days. Back when he was in Paris and living his rebellious teenager years, and couldn't give a single fuck about English and all of its subject-verb agreement rules. Well, it's too late to go back and change it now, though, innit? He's bloody thirty-one now for fuck's sakes.

Smiling softly, Louis watches Del Rey gesture with his hands--long, delicate fingers swaying in the air, while his massive, massive hands make enthralling gesticulations--and watches his mouth move as he speaks, again, slowly, "It's alright if you're not fluent, as long as we can communicate well. That'd be fine, I suppose." After a beat, they just stand there and look at each other, Louis drinking in Del Rey's languid posture. He's so tall, albeit he's hunched. Seconds pass and Del Rey eventually says, "I'm Harry, by the way. I'm sorry if I came here unannounced--it was just that I've realised we haven't properly met yet, which is a shame, considering the fact that we're the only neighbors in this side of nine'o'two one'o, so...yeah."

Blinking at him, Louis suppresses a short circuited laugh and motions for Harry to come in. He's so fucking relieved; he thought for sure that his neighbor stopped by with the sole plan of giving him a tongue-lashing for practically eye-fucking him like a right pervert. "Okay, okay," Louis breathily lets out, "bonjour, Harry. My name is Louis, nice t'meet you. Uh, _veuillez entrer_ (please, come in.)"

Harry smiles toothily, showcasing his perfect white teeth in a heart-achingly charming manner, and Louis' gaze doesn't leave Harry as he lets himself through his extravagant threshold. The ends of his gold boots are pointing toward each other endearingly, and his long, slim legs move in calculated strides that's reminiscent of how a model would grace a runway. He feels his skin crawl nervously all of the sudden, because _this is actually happening._

"You've got a nice house, French neighbor." Louis hears Harry say from behind him, sounding as awestruck as anyone else that ever enters his home.

Louis chuckles weakly. "Thank you, Anglais neighbor."

Harry follows him as he leads him to where the pool chairs are once they step outside, and when they choose where to sit--which is next to each other--Louis picks up his shirt from the patio and pulls it back over his chest, clearing his throat once more as he faces Harry with a troubled facial expression.

His heartbeat is racing.

"Look, _mon amour_ , about the... uh, earlier when you catch me--," Louis begins to explain, until Harry releases a breathless giggle that quickly makes him shut up.

"Amour?" Harry breathes out in a sketchy accent, a smile painting his lips. Louis wants to touch those red lips, see what they feel like against the pads of his fingers. Or perhaps, paint them using the reddest shades that he owns until he can show the entire world. "Isn't that love in French?"

Louis can only nod in affirmation at the question thrown at him, his face heating up rapidly. " _Oui..._ I--I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, Harry smiles and says, "No, it's--it's cool. I like it. I mean, I love it. You can, like, call me that. I think it's...yeah. Cute."

Louis sighs in relief. "Oh." Harry grins at him, cheekily and Louis almost melts with this fond type of attraction that hits him as a result of it, and that's when Valeria finally walks in on them staring right into one another's eyes while fully clothed during a hot California day beside a luxurious pool that is worth more than most peoples' houses, tray of juice and biscuits in her steady hands.

They thank her and she leaves without a word. Louis mentally praises himself for hiring her, she's not inquisitive of Louis and his doings in the slightest of ways, which is why he even fancied the thought of taking her in in the first place.

~*~

Their afternoon together turned out to be great, much to Louis' great relief.

Louis learns about Harry's profession of being a nightclub singer in a gay bar called _Velvety Roses_ , where he says he plays his guitar and pours his heart out to an audience that mostly consists of sweaty bikers and men in their late thirties and early forties. Which--wow. That probably explains the radiating seductive demeanor Harry holds in just his presence alone... Louis can see him as being successful with his job, with several of the attendants jostling for the best view of him crooning beautifully along with the sultry notes that he elicits from his guitar. Men probably crave his...attention. But he can't judge; Louis yearns for the exact same thing from him, too.

Louis also learns Harry is a very cheeky lad, smarter than he looks, taciturn too, but much happier to just sit and ramble continuously about nothing and everything, with that syrupy slow way of talking that he has going, green eyes sparkling and keeping Louis engaged while he does so.

In theory, Louis would've sighed and rolled his eyes at how talkative his companion--an American one, too--was. But there's something that's distinctly different about Harry, something that makes him so delightful that Louis actually wants to spend time with him and urge him into talking more. Because really, Louis can't understand what Harry was even saying half of the time, given that there was an obvious language barrier between them. But even so, Louis doesn't even seem to mind. He loves hearing Harry talk, even if he is entirely unsure on why Harry even came over to his home and why they've even been talking for such an extended period of time.

"Sorry I didn't bring anything for you, Mr. Tomlinson, like--a pie or something. I mean, isn't that what we are infamous for doing to newcomers? To welcome our neighbor to the neighborhood?" Harry giggles loudly, and then claps a hand over his mouth like he's embarrassed of the seal-like bark of a laugh he just emitted. "Sorry, again. 'S just--kinda repetitive. Neighbor...neighborhood..."

Louis laughs. "It's okay, it's--cute. Harry, cute. Also, please... Louis is the name. _Pas monsieur Tommo_."

"Mhmm, as you wish, Louis."

They've ran out of biscuits long ago, and their drinks are also almost empty; the moon has risen completely up in the sky, and the stars are slowly beginning to join the celestial body and illuminate the night, too. It's a beautiful scene, but Louis finds Harry more beautiful.

Breathing in and out, breathing in and out, Louis racks Harry's languid posture from where he's draped over the chair next to him and smiles when their gazes meet. Harry brushes a hand across his forehead, tucking his curls back under his red and blue headscarf. "No work tonight, Harry?" Louis asks, breaking the silence.

And for the first time ever since they've started talking, Louis wants to punch himself for ever speaking because Harry's eyes immediately widen, like he's woken from a deep trance and has just realized that the moon was out and playing games with the smiles that seem to be glued on their faces. "It's getting late, I should go," Harry says in a soft voice.

Louis nods at that and stands in sync with him, not saying any more. They both go inside and head towards the living area, with nothing that can be heard in his empty mansion besides their intertwined breaths echoing off of the walls. Louis leads Harry to the door and then opens it for him.

" _Merci_ , Harry, for--"

"About earlier, Louis, I," Harry cuts in, turning around to face Louis, "I should let you know... I did see you looking at me from your window, but. I don't--I wouldn't calling it 'catching you', though. I've always seen you watching, so. I didn't just notice you, but rather I've _always_ been aware... if that makes sense? I think it's just more so that this is the first time that you've caught me looking back."

Louis stares at him, tongue-tied while mortification overruns his veins. "You've always..." His eyes grow big, cheeks numbing because of all of the heat that's flooding there so rapidly. And then he groans, and starts to ramble, " _Oh mon dieu. Je suis tellement désolé. J'espère que j'étais pas bizarre, oh mon dieu._ (Oh, fucking hell. I'm so fucking sorry. I hope I wasn't creepy, oh God.)"

Laughter bubbles from inside Harry's throat and leaves his mouth, startling Louis into cutting himself off and blinking up at Harry. "I don't know what you just said, but _Lou_. It's okay, it's okay--hey." He takes Louis' hand and squeezes at it. "Don't worry, Louis, it's all good. Didn't you realise that... just by admitting I catch you every time actually meant...I also do the same with you?"

Louis' still looking at Harry--gawking, really--and in the end Harry just winks at him, retreating backwards with his hands on this back and across the yard, leaving Louis speechless on his front door, still in his dried up swimming trunks and t-shirt.

And yeah, why didn't Louis realise that anyway? _Harry stalks him back._ Louis watches as his hair bounces against his shoulders and his hips sway confidently away from Louis. He stalks him back? Louis' mind flashes back towards the knowing smirk that Harry aimed at him earlier today, and the realization hits him like a vicious punch to his stomach.

He does. _Oh mon Dieu._


	2. Sweet Like Cinnamon ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi i'm sorry took a while. tablet got towed away, wasn't able to edit this stuff sooner. but oh well, here u go! enjoy!

♡♡♡♡

Chris Martins' voice keeps Louis company as he skitters around his silent yet immaculate room for everything that he has to pack for the next month. He'll be staying at his old flat back in Paris--one that's far, _far_ away from Phil and Freya, one that he purposefully bought just for his monthly visits in said city--since it's been a while and Liam has been bugging him about it.

He's got a job that needs fulfillment there, and so far he's only finished with a meager twenty percent of it. Which, fuck. He's going to be royally screwed when the deadline approaches and he still isn't fully finished.

Louis is a professional artist (has been one ever since he sold his first piece when he was nineteen; soon after that he up and left Paris), and after years of relentless work and throwing himself into every piece that he paints, he has finally gotten himself a signed to fill an entire gallery. Of yes--of his very own masterpieces, no other features but his, Louis' art will be the very focal point of the entire event.

This is what Louis William Tomlinson's been aiming for ever since he picked up his first paintbrush and realized that he liked the feeling of putting paint on canvas, and he was even good at it. And now that he's finally here, holding all of his hopes and dreams in the trembling crevices between his fingers, Louis surely won't miss this opportunity for the world. Fuck no. This job is his personal form of sustenance; this is what allows him to eat, to live comfortably, and to keep indulging in the one thing that he loves, so there's no way that he's turning back. He's got a passion for painting picturesque views, and-- _and speaking of which..._

Louis looks over his window after a while (once he's filled the one of his two suitcases with his clothes, toiletries, and socks) and tries to locate the boy with the soft, luscious curls and cherry-red, plump lips. He's absent again, it seems, and the notion makes Louis sigh in defeat. It's been two weeks since their first encounter at his pool side, and Louis has gotten used to checking on him every day, hoping for a greeting, a smile or whatever. But there's nothing, not even the slightest glimpse of long legs folding into his shiny car or his broad shoulders hunching over as he paces towards his front, and again, _it's been two weeks._

_His Harry Del Rey._ He wonders how Harry looks like while singing... Does he bob his head in time with the music? Does he close his eyes as he belts lyrics? What does he sing, anyway? Rock songs? Indie? Pop?

Louis has always told himself that maybe he just hasn't caught a glimpse of Harry due to the fact that Harry works in the night and so he would surely be asleep in the morning, a schedule that is the exact opposite of Louis', pretty much, and that notion itself should ease his stress. It isn't enough, though, apparently. Louis has a desire to see him again, albeit he knows for sure this is just a silly--creepy--man-crush that he has for this boy. Because if he's being honest with himself, then he can confess that he can't keep the image of Harry with his quirky skin-tight jeans and silky headscarves wrapped out of his mind.

And it's been two damn weeks. Maybe Harry's ignoring him. But, why would he? They are not even _that_ close. They just hung out once. He shouldn't be so strung out over this. He should just get his shit together and get back to work. Back to reality. The reality wherein he goes back to painting in Paris and doesn't spend hours worrying about boys with tattoos and red lips and big, beautiful, green eyes.

Also, dimples. _God, those dimples._

He strides toward his cabinet and continues to pack, grabbing about six to seven canvases and the entirety of his poster paints, a couple of different points of paintbrushes, and three palettes. Going over to his drawers, Louis pulls out his remaining kush as well and lights up a joint for himself, and then he dials Nicholas Grimshaw's number.

Nick picks up on the fourth ring.

" _Bien, bien, bien, regardez qui appelle_ (Well, well, well, look who's called)," Nick, his best friend and old client says on the other end. " _A quoi dois-je ce plaisir, Mister Big Shot ?_ (To what do I owe this pleasure, Mister Big Shot?)"

Rolling his eyes as he takes a puff, Louis responds with a scoff. " _Mon vol pour Paris est dans 7 heures._ (Flight to Paris is in seven hours.) Let's get high. _Avant que j'embarque, ok? Tu devrais passer._ (Before I board, yeah? Come over.)"

" _Oh, tu retournes a ton--_ (Oh, you going back to your--)"

" _Non, j'ai mon propre appartement, merci beaucoup. Et oui, c'est pour le boulot. J'ai du remplir une galerie entière, tu as oublié? Enfin bon, viens là maintenant. Tu m'as manqué._ (No. I do have my own flat, thank you very much. And yes, it's about work. Had to fill an entire gallery, have you forgotten? Anyway, come over now. I miss you.)"

Nick laughs in his normal sarcastic way that has Louis smirking. He and Nick, they're very good at this--being best friends and at the same time acting like cats and dogs to each other. They do love each other, being the very closest friend to the other, but if you would do the maths, the ratio of them actually acting like compassionate best friends would be 5:10. Five is of them being the sweet and affectionate friends to each other, and the ten is of them being the rudely teasing buddies. And it's odd, but it works well for them. Very well, actually. Louis knows everything about Nick as does Nick back to him, so that's that.

"Mhm, alright, mister bossy. _Je suis là dans 10 mins!_ (Be there in ten!)" Nick chirps before hanging up. Louis lowers down his phone and proceeds packing.

He finishes with everything after fifteen minutes or so, a bit of moments before Nick has eventually come barging through his bedroom door.

~*~

He passes the joint to Nick, laughing as he exhales the remaining smoke that is swirling in heavy, languid circles in his lungs, lying on the edge of his bed, kicking his legs into the air as Nick shifts his weight on his plush bed.

Nick laughs softly in turn, taking a long, calculated drag out of the joint, dodging Louis' bare feet with his other free hand, diverting them before they go for his jaw, but then lets them rest draped over his lap, anyway. Louis hums in triumph at that, putting both of his hands behind his head and heaving a relieved sigh.

They've been here for almost four hours now, and all they have done so far is get rid of all the remaining weed that Louis had stowed away in his drawers, laugh at anything like something is actually funny, and catch up on things like friends and work.

The last bit of Louis' weed is clutched in between Nick's fingers, rolled tightly in a small spliff and quickly deteriorating. Louis thinks that they need to think of other things to do to kill more time. He has got at least two and a half more hours before he needs to go to the airport, and he's not even tired yet. He could very well just sleep his high off, sure, problem is though, he's not sleepy but rather in the mood. For drinks, maybe.

" _Je n'ai pas demandé, Nick, comment va Hurd?_ (I haven't asked, Nick, how's Hurd?)" Louis opts for conversation.

Looking at him, Nick flutters his long eyelashes and blows out a string of grey smoke. He makes a face at Louis after a beat--probably after he's taken in what Louis has just asked. "Fucked off with Eleanor, _qu'est-ce que tu crois?_ (what do you think?)"

"Eleanor? _Tu veux dire ... La secrétaire qu'il a embauché il y a un an?_ (You mean... that secretary he hired a year ago?)" Louis scrunches up his nose when Nick nods in confirmation. " _Quel enflure. Je suis tellement désolé, tu ne méritais pas ça... Je veux dire, probablement pas._ (What an asshole. I'm so sorry, you didn't deserve that... I mean, probably.)"

Nick snorts. " _Pareil._ (Same.)"

Louis chuckles. " _Non, vraiment. Sérieusement, Nick. Merde, je suis un con, désolé. Bien sur, que tu ne le méritais pas._ (No, really. Seriously, Nick. Fuck, I'm such a dick, sorry. Of course you didn't deserve that.)" Louis sits up to hug Nick, just to make his point clear, but Nick only shoves at his forehead to make him lay back down again, which only just results in him laughing again.

" _Je comprends, tu le pensais, pas besoin de câlins de pitié, Tommo_ (I get it, you meant it, no need for pity hugs, Tommo)," Nick says, laughing too. He's blushing, Louis can see from where he's lying, and that's already a win for Louis. It's not everyday that Louis sees Nick blush because of him, okay, and Nick is pretty much not the dramatic, touchy-feely type. Therefore that's a rare occurrence that should only make Louis feel rather triumphant.

" _Très bien, idiot sans cœur_ (Fine, you heartless git)," Louis tells him, grinning big.

"Anyway," Nick says firmly, flicking the lasts of the joint into the trash bin that Louis has inside his room. " _Tu es partant pour quelques verres? Je connais ce bar où ils font chanter des chansons indie à des Hipsters sur scène et les barman servent de la bonne bière. En plus, tu as encore le temps, non? Et aussi, j'ai entendu que les gars là bas ont des moustaches et des barbes, tu pourrais vouloir un ou deux numéros de plus sur ta liste de contacts._ (You up for some drinks? I know this bar where they make Hipsters sing Indie songs on stage and bartenders serve good booze. Besides, you still got time, don't you? And also, I heard the guys there have mustaches and beards, you might want one or two more numbers added in your contact list.)" Nick smirks at Louis, grinning that creepy horny smile he's always pulled when thinking about hooking up for a night, and--really, what can one Louis Tomlinson do about that?

He rolls his eyes, but says yes.

~*~

The bar Nick was talking about ends up being _Velvety Roses_. No fucking way.

Feeling sweaty and slightly nervous--and a bit anxiously excited, really, if he's honest with himself--Louis lets Nick drag him inside the bar (gay bar, actually) with his luggage. They've made a deal that Nick shall go with Louis to the airport after all the drinking and everything, thus he brought his suitcases with him already. Louis doubts that'll happen anyway, considering he knows his friend. Nick will probably fuck off with a man five years older than him and have a one-night stand, and leave Louis to deal with taking a cab to the airport on his own. _Ha._ Like Louis doesn't already know Nicholas Grimshaw.

Shaking his head, Louis forces himself back to reality, especially once he and Nick have finally settled themselves in a vacant table for four, two chairs unoccupied.

And--this place. _This_ is where Harry fucking sings, Louis knows this for a fact. Damn. Louis' heart is suddenly up in his throat, heartbeat racing fast as he looks around the dimmed and small, albeit air-conditioned pub, aiming to find the familiar head of curls and loosen posture of a tall, tan-skinned boy amongst a crowd of drunken old men, either dressed in tuxes or leather jackets. Those must be the bikers Harry told him about.

So this is it then. This is the place. That is the small stage. There, upfront. And these...these are the men who watch Harry perform every night. Not exactly the place Louis expected, but. Wow.

Moments from when Louis and Nick have arrived here, Louis so far has downed about two shots of pineapple vodka with Nick a bottle of pilsen, and now Nick is chatting up some man beside Louis, whereas Louis' glued to his chair, gaze directed to only one place. Or to _one person_. Because that--that boy on the stage, is his Harry Del Rey singing some kind of an Indie song with a green-taped microphone, spotlight focused on his lazy, delicate figure at the center of the narrow stage, eyelids heavy as he belts each lyric, guitar in hand, strapped around his body.

" _Now my life is sweet like cinnamon. Like a fucking dream I'm living in. Baby love me cause I'm playing on the radio_ ," Harry croons, strumming his guitar in a slow manner. " _How do you like me now?_ " He smiles while he sings, eyelids fluttering shut. " _Lick me up and take me like a vitamin. 'Cause my body's sweet like sugar venom, oh yeah. Baby love me cause I'm playing on the radio... How do you like me now?_ "

The song suits him, thinks Louis. Suits him very well.

" _American dreams came true somehow. I swore I'd chase 'em till I was dead. I heard the streets were paved with gold. That's what my father said..._ "

And he looks--he sounds--fucking mesmerizing, is the thing. Damn. So, so enchanting; so, so beautiful, with his low and velvety soft voice lulling Louis into a softly blinking daze, lips parting as he listens with a hand pressed to his cheek, the sight of Harry blurring in his visions... because of how blissful it is just letting all those cryptic and seductive lyrics alone sink in.

And fuck. Fuck, it's also arousing. What the hell? Louis' getting a semi just by listening to Harry singing his fucking heart out. This isn't fair. Not fair at all. And look, Louis wants to paint Harry. He wants to paint him while looking like _that._

Louis gulps, looking down on the glass in his hand. Distraction. He needs a distraction.

Thirty minutes in, Louis is definitely drunk on Harry's velvety, husky voice, as well as all the drinks he's swallowed down. He can barely see straight, he didn't even see Harry approach him.

"Hey... I think I know you..."

Louis looks up. "Hmm?"

"Bonjour, Louis."

Blinking to clear his vision, Louis sees a pair of dark yet somehow still gleaming emerald eyes staring back at him, red lips twitched upward in a lazy, seductive smirk. "Harry. Hi."

"Do you mind?" Harry asks, motioning at the vacant sit next to Louis'.

Louis shakes his head. "No... Not at all."

~*~

Louis doesn't remember that he has to leave for his flight until it's about twenty minutes too late; when his plane has boarded quite already. He thinks it's no big deal, and that he can just book another one in the morning... after all, he is his own boss.

And besides, just seeing Harry giggle prettily at all of his jokes-- _dimpling_ \--nuzzling at the crook of his neck like this is making him weak in the knees all at once. He doesn't have the power to get up and leave, make Harry see and realise what the suitcases under the table are for--urge himself to get a move on and leave this perfect image of Harry leaned against him and chuckling lowly paused delicately in the back of his mind so that he can forever reflect on it while back in Paris for a month.

Louis can't move away though. He simply can't. He downs another shot of martini.

Feeling hot, as well as numb, Louis tilts his head sideways to get a proper look at Harry nestling his cheek against his shoulder, a soft, lazy smile across his full lips, eyelashes hollowing his flushed cheeks, and whispers in his ear, "You look so beautiful, Harry. You're the most beautiful boy I have ever seen... in my life."

Slowly looking up at that, Harry's smile turns into a wicked grin. And the next thing Louis knows is they are kissing. Softly, sweetly. And then roughly. They are suddenly full-on snogging, with Louis' arms wrapped around Harry's waist as Harry arches his back, chest pressed against Louis' own firmly with their nipples touching through the fabrics of their thin shirts, Harry's arms snaked tightly around Louis' neck. Their heads are tilted both in opposite sideways, wet lips creating obscene kissing noises, soft, slick tongues tangling to each, eyes shut and just all out tasting each other.

Harry tastes sweet. Sweet and heavily of citrus and alcohol, and Louis wants to fuck him.

Minutes to their shameless, public snogging (because really, men in the bar are now wolf-whistling and cheering them on while they kiss), Harry pulls back and asks, "Yours or mine?"

Louis chuckles, his accent getting heavier even in his own ears as he responds, "Harry... we are neighbors. I am fine with anything."

Arms still wrapped around Louis' neck, back arched and arse poised outwards like the nympho he is, Harry shakes his head no at Louis, and then he murmurs, "I've my own apartment to myself, Lou. Gemma, my sister, lives in Beverly Hills. She's your neighbor, not me."

"Oh." _Oh, indeed_ , thinks Louis. And that explains why he hasn't seen Harry for almost three weeks now, why he only sees him occasionally. Louis didn't see that one coming. But at least now he also knows that no one's trying to avoid him. "O-okay, then... let us go to yours instead."

"Okay," Harry chirps, standing up and pulling Louis up with him. He takes his guitar, dusting his jeans and ruffling his curls.

"Wait, let me just..." Louis lets go of Harry's hand to take his suitcases from under the table. And then he nudges Nick, now two chairs far from him. " _Je pars en premier. Je vais prendre un autre vol pour demain. Ça va aller ici tout seul?_ (I am going first. I will book another flight tomorrow. You going to be okay here by yourself?)"

Nick salutes him. " _Bien sûr, bien sûr. Prends soin de toi, Tommo! Envoies moi un message demain! Amuses toi avec le joli garçon._ (Of course, of course. Take care, Tommo! Text me tomorrow! Have fun with pretty boy.)" He winks. Louis rolls his eyes, but nods with a silly smile on his face anyway. And then after that, Nick is back to flirting with the man he's been chatting up the whole night since they got here. Louis can only shake his head at that and let Harry loop his arm with his, since they can't hold hands for his are both occupied.

"So, that guy... he is your friend?" Harry asks once they're out in the streets and waiting for a cab to stop right in front of them. The night is warm, not the one Louis expected, but the sky tonight is looking beautiful and is filled with stars, moon a perfect crescent, clouds nowhere in sight. Post lamps light up the almost empty roads, occasional cars and motorbikes passing by, and that has Louis realizing it's probably morning already. Around two, perhaps?

"Who?" Louis quips then, facing Harry. "Oh, you mean Nicholas?" Harry nods, biting at his nails and blinking dazedly back at Louis. He's so fucking adorable--those Bambi eyes, those soft, chocolaty curls, those sweet, sweet lips that Louis wants wrapped around his dick. Tonight. Oh hell yeah. "Yes, he's my best friend, actually, _oui_. We met in Paris, he used to be my client--painted a portrait of him and his ex-wife after their wedding."

"Ex-wife? He's gay, no?" Harry puzzles, eyebrows knotting. A cab finally stops by the curb right in front of them, and the driver helps Louis load his suitcases, and then he and Harry both hop inside. Immediately, as though they've been doing this for years now, Harry nuzzles against Louis' side, quickly relaxing after he's rattled off his address to the driver, temple resting on Louis' shoulder in a heartbeat, his breathing set in a normal pace. Unlike Louis' own... unlike Louis who swallows down the lump in his throat, because he feels ridiculously anxious just by thinking about having his cock up Harry's arse any moment from now.

_This is happening._

"Erm. Nicholas tried to have a family with a woman, Harry... but he failed. His wife found out about his sexuality years later before she could get pregnant, and so they had an annulment. That was from four years ago," Louis explains, "he's... happy now. Single, although."

"Oh," Harry hums. "How old is he?"

"Thirty-six," Louis says simply.

Harry hums again. After a beat, "And...you?"

Louis smiles, tangling his fingers through Harry's curls, which are down tonight, no headscarf. "Don't you wanna guess, pumpkin?"

"Twenty-eight?" Harry chirps, smile across his lips.

"Wow, _merci_ ," Louis laughs. Harry pokes at his side, causing him to squirm. "Fine, thirty-one. I'm thirty-one."

"Not bad," Harry muses, "You look younger than thirty-one."

Louis grins. "Again, _merci, mon amour._ "

~*~

Harry's apartment is small. A simple kitchen connected to the living area greets them as soon as they step inside.

There are two cream-colored doors to a narrow hallway just past the kitchen; one leading to Harry's bedroom, and the other to the bathroom. A sliding door can be seen back at the living area that houses a plasma TV and three pink couches, one that leads to a small balcony where you can overlook the city of LA. Buildings after buildings, houses upon houses... trees, cars, streetlights, and people providing for a scenery that is bursting with life.

And yes--yes, Louis does love this place so fucking much already. It's neat, the entire floor carpeted, and the walls painted green...just like Harry's eyes. Louis suddenly loves the color green. Like, now, it's his new favourite. It reminds him of a frog, a cute one--reminds him of Harry. It's very lovely.

"Harry Styles," Louis moans in Harry's mouth, as Harry pumps quickly over his own slick-with-pre-come dick, making it harder and thicker at each stroke that Harry yields to him, their tongues sliding against each as they kiss.

They're lying in Harry's bed now, Louis underneath Harry, and so far they've almost completely undressed each other.

After one, two, three, and four more strokes, Louis finally releases what he's been holding up since he's first heard Harry sing back in Velvety Roses. And Harry giggles at that--at how the sticky come splattered across his face, some dribbling down his chin--taking Louis' cock in his mouth hungrily, his tongue sticking out first, and then swallowing him whole down. Louis holds onto his hair, pushing his head down and fucking Harry's mouth. He can feel the head of his cock hitting the back of Harry's throat, and Harry isn't even complaining. Not at all. _Fuck._ He's so good at this.

After some time, Louis at last changes their positions and he eagerly undresses Harry, unbuttoning his black and violet roses sheer shirt, pulling at his skinny jeans with his might and kicking all those off the bed, and--and boy does he not expect to be met with such... sheer disrespect. Harry's body is a damn perfection.

He's got inked tan skin, toned abs flexing and perfect biceps, long, lean body, long legs and delicate posture. Harry's an angel in disguise, and despite Louis' had a fair share of seeing models in his lifetime, especially back in Français, he must admit Harry's yet the finest he's seen with his very own naked eyes.

" _Tu es tellement beau, putain. Vraiment super beau, Harry_ (You're so fucking beautiful. Real fucking pretty, Harry)," he breathes out, laying Harry down the pillows.

Harry giggles. He doesn't understand Louis, presumably, but it renders a cute sound out of him either way. As Louis leans down to steal another quick kiss to Harry, he pauses halfway once he hears Harry whisper...

"Daddy." And-- _what the actual hell was that?_ This is so unfair. Oh, God.

"Harry," Louis exhales brokenly, neck to ears flushing hotly, "what..." He can't tear his gaze away from Harry's mouth, anticipation building from inside his stomach, waiting for Harry to say that word again.

"Daddy," Harry whispers, eyes wide and lips parted open. "Fuck me, daddy." And there it goes.

Fuck, fuck, shit. " _O-oui_ ," Louis squeaks out. "Condom--condom and lube...?"

Nodding frantically, Harry reaches over the drawers beside his bed and pulls out a bottle and a packet. Louis takes them both, and then he starts slicking up his fingers. Harry lies back down again, more relaxed now as he spreads his own legs for Louis to be in between of, stretching his hole altogether.

Louis doesn't waste any more time, tracing his fingertips over Harry's puckered rim, making Harry shiver audibly. Louis' heart jumps, loving the sight of Harry being responsive underneath him, thighs spread and open.

Leaning down as he hovers on top of Harry, Louis kisses Harry's jaw at the same time he pushes in one finger in Harry's hole. " _Ah_ ," Harry moans, back arching in respond to the coolness of Louis' finger.

"So lovely, baby," Louis whispers against his sweaty skin. He preps Harry's arse, fucking him with only one finger, until he adds another one, and Harry's whimpering lightly under him.

" _Please_ ," Harry whispers, eyes closing in visible bliss.

Louis slows down his pace, kissing Harry's cheek. "Please, what?" He asks, nibbling at Harry's ear. "What, baby?"

Letting out a sob, teased by Louis' slow fucking into his hole, Harry exhales brokenly, "Please, daddy. Fuck me, please."

"Say no more, _chéri_ ," Louis says, grinning. Harry sighs deeply, feeling Louis sliding his fingers out his hole. Louis sits up and enjoys the sound of Harry's whining at the loss of contact, warmth of skin to skin, body heat, wearing the condom on his own, once again, hard cock. He slicks it up with lube, pumping it a few notches. Looking down at Harry, who's biting his lip and watching Louis from beneath him, Louis smiles lazily at him and asks, "Ready, baby?"

Nodding, Harry whines as he makes grabby hands on Louis' hips, "Yes, yes, daddy. Please, _just--_ "

And Louis doesn't make Harry finish his begging anymore. He lines up his cock across Harry's pinkish rim rendering a sharp intake of breath from Harry, free hand holding Harry's hip in place, the other wrapped around his own cock. So responsive, Harry is, and Louis can't get enough of him. Harry shivers as he feels Louis up, his hole swallowing Louis' thick cock inch by inch, until Louis can't see his own cock anymore, until he's ball deep inside Harry.

"Ah, yeah, _fuck yeah_ ," Harry stars blabbering then once Louis has started moving, murmuring incoherently, sweats trickling down his forehead. Louis fastens his pace, both hands at either sides of Harry's head, eyes rolling at the back of his head.

" _Si...serré_ (So...tight)," Louis murmurs, fucking into Harry hard, fast and slick. Harry whimpers underneath him, hands clutching at the sheets. "So good for me, baby."

"Yes, daddy, _yes_ ," Harry cries.

More thrusts and snogging later, Louis finally comes a bit right after Harry does and squirts some across his belly. Louis kisses him through it, until he calms down from riding his orgasm... and then cleans them both with the extra duvet, letting that fall off the bed. Harry yawns once, Louis getting the hint right away. It's three AM.

They fall asleep cuddling, Harry on his back pressed to Louis' chest, Louis spooning him up.

~*~

His phone beeping as an indication of the next flight to Paris boarding within 3 hours wakes Louis up, making him groan while locating his phone, one eye still closed. He shuts it once he gets a hold of it, and almost instantly he feels Harry stirring slightly in his arms.

Louis can't help smile, blinking hazily down at the boy curled inward and now facing him--cocooned by him--snoring softly obviously still in a deep slumber, still trapped in his dreams. Louis sighs dearly, tracing his fingertips along Harry's jaw line and earlobe, down his flushed cheek and then along his bottom lip, making Louis smile wider at the feel of that soft lip. Harry's so damn beautiful, and... and Louis got to kiss that lip last night, bite at it, wet it with his tongue.

Moving little by little, not planning to wake Harry up at all, Louis sits up slowly and starts gathering his clothes from the floor, setting them down by the chair in Harry's room.

Louis looks down at Harry yet again, putting both hands at each hip, and marvels on the fact Harry probably looks so painfully photogenic...telegenic. He's a picturesque himself, and Louis has to admit the first time he's laid eyes on Harry he wanted to paint him so, so bad.

It's just all there, see. Harry's tanned skin, the tattoos littering his body, those curls that would be so perfect for all the shades of brown Louis owns, those... those red, plump lips that require the reddest of poster paints Louis has in store, and--those green, green eyes.

Louis swallows hard. And with one last inhale, exhale, he finally decides to go along with it. Louis walks toward his suitcases and zips open the one that contains his painting equipments. He pulls out a canvas and a palette, a couple of poster paints, and then the richest paintbrush he owns amongst their bunch.

Setting everything, getting ready for action... Louis takes in Harry's view by the bed one more time, his sleeping figure, peaceful and heavenly, stark naked, just a blanket covering his goods... and Louis eventually gets to work.

~*~

It takes an hour and a half, before Harry's blinked his eyes open. Louis jumps a bit, but then he realizes it's just his model who has awaken.

"Are you...painting me while I'm sleeping?" Harry's raspy voice utters out, green eyes bright.

Louis nods, smiling sheepishly. " _Oui, mon amour._ I am sorry. You look so heavenly I wasn't able to...help it."

Harry chuckles. "No, no, it's okay," he says reassuringly, "please, it's all cool. Uhm, are you finish with it? Or should I--"

"Oh, it's alright to move now, Harry." Louis laughs slyly, waving Harry off. "I can continue with this on another time. Just a bit... skin, limbs, this shall be perfected in no time. The important thing is I've captured your face." He shrugs.

"If you say so." Harry smiles, dimples popping. Louis sets down his tools just as Harry's sat up, blanket sliding off his naked body altogether. Louis looks at the amazing sight and he almost drooled; he refrains from doing so however, just chooses to walk toward Harry and kiss him. Harry moves his face though, giggling. "Morning breath!" He squeals.

Louis laughs, cupping Harry's face. "I do not care," he preens, and then presses his lips hard against Harry's owns.

Harry laughs in his mouth, they both do, until they're both lying on the bed, wrestling each other. Louis tickles Harry, and all Harry can do is squirm as he squeals highly from his throat. Louis pins him down on the bed, and Harry peers up at him, grinning. "Have a flight to catch, baby. Jet is leaving within an hour," Louis whispers, turning serious.

Harry's smile falters a little. "Where to?" He murmurs, gaze focused on Louis' owns.

"Paris. Got work to do. I've got an art gallery to fill..."

"Oh, that's... amazing, Lou."

Louis nods. "It is."

"Are you...coming back?" Harry asks, what Louis presume is hope flashing before his eyes as he looks up at Louis.

Louis breathes out, shaking his head. "Of course, Harry. California is home. Paris isn't."

"Ah, well... don't let me keep you, then," Harry says, smiling now.

"Mhmm," Louis hums, and then he leans down and captures Harry's lips yet again, biting on his upper lip just to run his tongue across it... " _On se voit dans un mois_ (I'll see you in a month)," is what he says before he's scrambling for his stuff and leaving Harry's apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you'll know on the next chapter who phil and freya are :) like, more properly. also, any feedback? x


	3. Let Me Put On A Show For You, Daddy ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we meet freya, harry meets freya.  
> louis is doomed.

♡♡♡♡

It's Sunday morning when Louis and Freya land in LAX with only a few suitcases in hand. Per usual, it's only Louis who opts for going straight home, while Freya is declaring she's going over to her friend's pad, claiming that they have some sort of a house party going on. Yeah, right. A party in the morning. Does Freya think he's that dull? He may be old, but he's not stupid. Whatever. Louis lets her be, knowing his daughter well enough that she'll only disobey him. She's always pulling the "I'm old enough to take care of myself, dad," card and it pains him to realize that she's right.

Taking care of a 19 year-old, inherently spoiled child is truly fucking exhausting. And, Louis has just gotten so used to frequently hearing the same argument over and over, that he doesn't even bother to dispute it anymore. He knows better than her, alright, and that is a fact; Louis used to be just like her back in the day, too. He sighs warily and eyes Freya tiredly.

The simple fact of the matter is that Louis misses his pool and has a bunch of paperwork to take care of, and he just wants to go home as soon as possible instead of wasting valuable time by fighting with Freya. Besides, he has to check on Valeria too--she might've managed to set fire to his Beverly Hills home and he wouldn't even know.

Louis hails a cab and quickly loads his luggage into the back seat, rattling off his address to the driver all the while without messing a single beat. He settles into his seat properly, clasping the seatbelt across his lap and closing his eyes once he's finished.

It feels like only a mere while later until Louis opens his eyes drowsily, only to be met by the ever-so-familiar and ever-so-elegant entrance of the village he's learned to love so much over the past months that have somehow melded into nearly reaching the amount of a year. Ever since he moved here, he has hardly ever left the rolling lawns and luxurious mansions that he has become accustomed with, his very own definition of home. Louis doesn't think he'll ever get used to the glorious beauty of California.

Louis shifts from where he's been slouched in the leather seat as the profound skinny tall trees that are aligned along the road come into view. Expensive cars pass by, melding with the familiar bustle of the motorbikes and the skateboarding teenagers clad in only their colorful bikinis weaving through the women walking their posh dogs on short leashes. Sprawling houses that are nestled to another that appears to hold an even more grandiose aura than the last slowly disappear from his line of sight as the cab crawls closer to his own mansion.

He sometimes cannot fathom that this is his life--this lifestyle that is bathed in such luxury and beauty--and that he has achieved it by doing the one thing he loves so unconditionally. Of course, it's not only the painting that helps fund for his lavish lifestyle. His deceased foster parents deserve some credit, too. But he opts to forget about that bit, in fact, he prefers to erase the memory of them from his life altogether.

~*~

There is a white vintage car in front of Harry's--or no, no, Harry's informed him otherwise... last month. So let's rephrase that.

There's a white vintage car in front of Harry's sister's, Gemma's, house, and that is what Louis' vision is first drawn to when the cab finally drops him off at his house. The white fence and the primly cut acacia trees do nothing to obscure his curious eyes or his knowledge as the realization dawns on him in one fell swoop.

Harry's here today. The thought excites his veins in a way that he can't explain, and his mind is instantly reeling with the possibilities of what Harry could be doing at this very moment. He could be asleep, maybe he's taking a bath as Louis stands here, maybe he's lying in the guest room's bed. Either way, Louis feels his presence and can't seem to think about anything other than _Harry is here._

Just thinking about the probability of seeing Harry again has his heart dipping towards his stomach. Louis decides to ignore the childish sensation, opting to walk away from the sight of the white vintage car, and taking his luggage with him. Louis rings the doorbell and waits until Valeria answers it.

~*~

" _Faites-moi une tasse de café. J'ai besoin de travailler sur quelque chose_ (Make me some coffee, please. I need to work on something)," Louis tells Valeria as she helps him bring his suitcases upstairs. They stop at his bedroom entrance and she delicately sets the luggage beside his pile.

" _Oui, monsieur._ (Yes, sir.)"

Louis takes off his suit and untangles his belt from his fitted trousers, undressing himself quickly as he strides towards his en suite. He turns on the shower and sheds himself from his pants before slowly moving under the warm spray. He isn't finished by the time Valeria's placed his coffee cup on his bedside table and has disappeared back to her own quarters.

Louis rather missed this place--his home. Everything about it, really. From the calming sent of his cinnamon shampoo, to the perfect water pressure that his shower exudes. Everything. He missed his king sized bed, his pristine windows that always drew him to look over at his neighbor... _his Del Rey_. He missed Valeria, with her quiet presence grouped with her superb cooking. Everything.

Louis never thought he'd miss LA this much. Not like this. Not in this way. But then his mind goes back to Paris, and all he can ever recall is the horrid events that occurred there, even if his last few visits have been markedly calmer than before. Of course, those were all just work-oriented, mostly. He painted, he watched the telly, he slept, he ate everyday, and then--and then he occasionally heard about his ex-husband, Phil, through their adopted daughter, Freya, as they dined in posh restaurants.

Those events made Louis feel sick to his stomach, if he is being quite frank. He can't seem to even be able to think about Phil without having a vile feeling of disgust overrun his veins.

He and Phil broke up years ago, back in 2013, when he caught Phil having sex with a French woman in their own bed back in Paris. They've only been married for two brief years at the time, and that was the first instance throughout that span of time where he didn't come home early. (He stayed late to work for one of the Parisian charities that he was a part of.) Louis was quick to file an annulment after he walked in on him, though. Phil was just a shitty excuse for a human being, he pretended to be infatuated, committed to, and in love with Louis when in reality he was a bisexual that took more of a fancy towards women and was just taking advantage of Louis' ability to make millions by doing what he loves.

It's probably a good thing that Louis saw Phil for the filthy excuse of a man that he was sooner rather than later. Because Louis was in love with Phil, and he would've let the man suck him and all of his worth dry. It was painful when he realized that his perfect husband wasn't that perfect, but he has been able to compartmentalize the heartbreak that ensued the event until it has essentially blurred from his mind. Louis has long forgotten the pain, he truly has. He just prefers to never think about Phil and his deceiving smile ever again.

He's over it; he truly is. He has finally hooked up with someone again. And that someone is not just anyone. It's _Harry_... his Del Rey.

Louis genuinely likes Harry. Like he genuinely, seriously does. And as he dries his hair while searching for clothes to change into, his mind wanders off to think about the work that he did while at Paris. He selects a black tank top and some anchor-patterned boxer shorts and slips them over his still-wet body, looking at the scattered canvases that he laid out on his bed before he took his shower, the painting of Harry being in the middle of them all, standing as a focal point that makes all the other pieces look like mere decorations that capitalize Harry's soft curves and hooded eyes.

That man--that beautiful, beautiful man--on that portrait. Harry "Del Rey" Styles. Is so glorious, is so addicting, that Louis wants to fucking paint him again and again until his wrist is cramped and his mind is swimming with a myriad of hues that he can paint Harry in. Louis wants--he _needs_ to paint him again. But not nearly as much as he wants to see him again, too. It's been a month. Will Harry even take the time to meet him again? It's been a month since he's seen him, though, and who's to say that Harry will even want to speak to Louis again? What if he's angry at Louis for leaving him after their night together to go to Paris for a month? What if he has found someone else to keen under and clutch needily to throughout the night, and now Louis is nothing but a far away memory?

Fuck. Louis has fucked up. There's no way Harry could still see Louis as a viable partner when he left the fucking country the night after their first time in bed together. Why hasn't he thought of this before? He could've booked another flight the day after they had sex and stayed for at least one more day in Harry's apartment.

Louis shakes his head, his hair still dripping from the shower he just had. " _Ressaisis toi, Tommo. Harry ne te déteste pas. Vous... Vous vous êtes séparés en bon termes non? Il t'a même embrassé._ (Get a grip of yourself, Tommo. Harry doesn't hate you. You...you split in good terms, didn't you? He even kissed you.)" Louis runs a hand through his hair, stressing. " _Mon dieu, vous avez fait l'amour. Il t'a appelé .. Fuck, il t'a appelé daddy. Arrêtes de stresser pour rien_. (God, you had sex. He called you... fuck, he called you daddy. Stop stressing over nothing.)"

Sighing for the last time, Louis flops down on his bed and stretches. He doesn't have jetlag, but he still is a bit tired. Just a bit. Not tired enough to make him want to sleep it off.

Louis sits up and chances a glance at his window, not quite looking for anything in particular, but he still catches a glimpse of a floral sheer shirt mostly unbuttoned revealing two inked birds on a lean chest, long curls being tossed softly by the wind, and a pale cheek that is indented with a fairly deep dimple. _Harry._

Harry who is looking up at his window, both hands resting on each hip, one eyebrow raised, as though he's silently demanding for an explanation. But--but, Louis didn't do anything wrong, did he?

Louis gulps as he stares back at Harry unblinkingly, can't help but look at him from head to toe, watching the lithe boy as he crosses the lawn and--fuck, disappears to the front of Louis' home.

Quickly, Louis grabs his aviator sunglasses that were resting on his bedside table and slips on his shoes, then he takes to jogging towards his door and then out of his room. He takes the freshly waxed stairs two steps at a time as he thunders down towards his entry hall. He hears the doorbell ring throughout his house and he meets Valeria as she's halfway out of the kitchen. " _J'y vais_ (I got this)," he tells her, lifting a hand. She nods and walks back to where she came from.

Taking a deep breath, Louis wills his heartbeat to settle the fuck down. Once it's at a reasonable pace, he opens the door, and--

" _Et bien, salut, regardez qui est de retour tôt parce que son ami l'a abandonnée!_ (Well, hello, look who's back early because their friend abandoned them!)" Freya beams sarcastically, leaning in and giving Louis a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Louis blinks rapidly, immensely baffled, as he looks at his daughter and--and Harry beside her. " _Pas ... Pas de fête, donc? Chez ton..._ (No... no party, then? At your...)" Louis asks dumbly, still trying to absorb the scene laid before him.

Freya shakes her head, glossed lips pursed, both hands behind her back. Her blonde hair clings to each shoulder, framing her small face delicately, and she's...she's batting her long eyelashes as she averts her gaze from Louis to Harry. "Nope, _pas de fête_ (Nope, no party)," she confirms. " _Hum, alors, c'est qui ce gars là? Tu le connais, papa?_ (Erm, well, who is this guy right here? You know him, dad?)"

Louis moves his gaze to the new subject at hand, heat rising in his cheeks when he catches Harry's wide eyes staring right back at him. He looks confused, with a raised eyebrow and his head tilted curiously at Freya. They're both waiting for him to answer, because they both know Louis owes him an explanation. Or really, an untold story.

Swallowing, Louis gestures at Harry. "Freya, Harry here is... an American. So be polite and speak English, understood? It wouldn't be fair if he didn't understand anything that we say."

Freya hums, nodding. "Alright," she muses, looking at Harry again and raising a perfectly trimmed brow. "So, who is he then, and what's up?"

Sighing, Louis once again gestures to Harry and says, "He's Harry, he's my..."

"Neighbor," Harry supplies, talking for the first time since they all got here. He smiles a bit, offering a hand to Freya.

"And I'm Freya, his daughter."

"Oh, _daughter_ ," Harry muses, voice rising. Louis' breath hitches in his throat at the sound of it. Fuck. "Funny that, Louis has never mentioned any... daughter. That's peculiar," he adds, even louder this time, looking at Louis with slightly gritted teeth. Louis wettens his lips nervously with his tongue and looks away.

"Yes, daughter," Freya confirms with a giggle, nodding her head excitedly, very much oblivious of the current situation at hand.

Louis watches as his daughter and Harry shake hands, and his daughter grins largely at Harry, eyelashes batting flirtatiously at him, all the while. Her small hand lingers for a millisecond too long while clutching Harry's own, and she is biting her lip in a way that gives her this essence of allure. Louis can't help but clear his throat at that, making the two jump apart and look at him.

"Well, that's quite enough, yeah? You, young lady, go inside," Louis says firmly, giving his daughter a look. She scoffs petulantly, yet she still obeys, even if she does pointedly stomp throughout the mansion. Louis can hear her calling out for Valeria as soon as she is inside, her voice reverberating throughout the ornate and spacious house. Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head slightly.

By the time Louis glances back at Harry, who's still standing on his front step, Louis stumbles back a little in shock because he's met instantly with a pair of blazing green eyes staring right back at him, his red, plump lips pursed in a thin line; he looks like a (beautiful) kitten poised to attack at any given moment. Louis gulps nervously at the sight.

A beat of silence passes before an impatient, " _Well?_ " releases from Harry's throat, his voice low and demanding. He crosses his arms against his chest defiantly, cheeks flushing red. "Aren't you gonna let me in? Daddy..." He murmurs the last part, sounding more so upset rather than sexy, which stands in stark contrast to the last time Louis heard him utter that very word. He's obviously referring to Freya calling him daddy too--but in a totally different manner, of course.

Louis frowns as he looks down at his slipper-clad feet (feeling disappointed with himself, really), before stepping aside to let Harry through the doorway. "Baby. Come in, please."

Harry lets his hands fall to his sides and takes two steps foward, his sweet scent becoming more prevalent as he moves closer into Louis' proximity, and then he's stopped, hovering in the doorway right next to Louis. Louis feels long, delicate fingers tipping his chin upwards gently, guiding him to look at Harry fully, and then suddenly there's a pair of soft lips that are pressing against his. It's a chaste kiss but it still feels like serenity when Louis becomes familiar with the sweet taste of Harry's lips once more. Louis closes his eyes in bliss--he fucking missed this too, he realizes--before kissing Harry back, hard. The younger boy immediately moans in response, his massive hands coming up to cup his face gingerly and letting their mouths mould against each. Louis has to breathe; Harry's just too much, so all encompassing and so easy to drown into. It's addicting and terrifying all at once.

The kiss ceases and they're just standing there with their lips hovering over each other as they release all of the breaths they've been holding. Louis takes a moment to be thankful for the fact that neither Freya nor Valeria caught them in their... passionate embrace. He closes his eyes tightly in relief, exhaling loudly. When he presses his forehead against Harry's and opens his eyes, Louis only then realizes that Harry has seemingly been waiting for him to focus back on him--on them--before whispering to him, "We need to talk then, I suppose?"

Louis can only nod in response.

~*~

They end up hanging out by the pool. And it's just like the first time all over again. But it's different, though, because Freya is present not only in their proximity but also acting a source of tension between the two. There's also the fact that they're not strangers anymore. Harry isn't just a mystery wrapped in skintight jeans; he's his Del Rey, the same man that he fucked into rapidly while he moaned from pleasure from being called Daddy by the addictive minx. So it's not just like before, but it also is, in an abstract way. Louis sighs--he needs a drink.

Louis has got his laptop set on the space next to him and the same cup of coffee that Valeria made from earlier as he perches on one of the lounge chairs. He tries his best to focus on the screen of his laptop and read through the emails that Liam has sent him just now, pointedly ignoring Harry and Freya who are mucking about in the water. It's really hard not to look up and watch, though, especially when Harry's clad just a pair of fucking yellow short shorts that make him appear to be practically naked. What in the actual fuck is this boy trying to do to him?

Louis shakes his head, thankful for his aviator sunglasses that are perched over his nose and the fact that they don't allow for anyone to know where his vision is aimed at.

Looking down at the task at hand once more, Louis learns that the emails are all about the feedback he's receiving about the painting of Harry that he exhibited last month--what he'd been rooting for for almost two weeks now!--all from both Frenchmen critics and long time friends, and... fuck, they're all positive responses so far. Louis has the authority to grin proudly to himself, pride about his work and _Harry_ despite Harry doesn't know yet flooding through his body as he stares at the ecstatic reviews from his colleagues.

The smile apparently distracts Harry enough that he decides in taking a break from the pool to walk towards him by the pool side, asking him, "What's so funny, Lewis?"

Louis by instinct looks up at that, can hear his daughter whining her complaints about having a lack of a companion in the background, eyes locking with Harry.

Harry, who's got a hand on his hip and is dripping wet with pool water, curls damp and dimples flashing dangerously. And _damn_ , Louis is so goddamn aroused just by that _one_ glance alone. His line of sight trails down, taking in the sight of those fucking tattoos that litter his glistening chest. Louis wants to paint him like this. Those yellow shorts will definitely need an entire yellow poster paint for it to turn out fucking perfect. And then--and then Louis' gonna make millions, probably, and Harry's gonna be a star, and then they'll fuck, after all of the congratulatory events, on a mattress... one that's filled with cash, that is.

Louis bites his lip at the thought.

"I wanna bite that lip myself to be honest, _mon amour_ ," Harry murmurs, out of the sudden startling Louis. He flushes, can't help but take his aviators off and scoot back a little, making room for Harry to sit.

Harry complies, pushing his curls out of his face and tying them up in a bun with the elastic band that was on his wrist. Louis refrains himself, doesn't allow himself to grab Harry and bend him over this chair and fuck him roughly. But he knows better than to do that. He's achingly aware of Freya's presence and how she would be less than pleased with the sight and might even be angry enough to run to Phil and tell him that Louis was molesting a young boy in front of her. Louis scoffs at the thought. God forbid Louis ever dare to fuck someone other than Phil, he thinks sarcastically.

"So," Louis starts to say, clearing his throat. "You and my daughter look... happy together--"

"Oh _please_ , you know I'd much rather be sucking your cock," Harry quickly disputes, snorting so hard at the thought of Freya as though he's just been ridiculed. Which, perhaps that's the case.

Louis shakes his head. "Right."

"Why? Jealous?" Harry barrels on, and then adds in a low voice, "Daddy _Lou_."

Sighing, Louis lets out without much hesitancy, accent thick, "We are divorced, alright, Harry?"

"You and your wife?" Harry asks with venom, sounding disgusted with the word wife.

So Louis grits his teeth, annoyed that Harry would just assume. " _Ex_ ," Louis bites out, "ex husband. Freya was adopted, she wasn't...wasn't made out of love."

After that wee bit of a revelation, Harry seems to quiet down all of the sudden, as if he is lost in his own thoughts. Louis can hear him humming softly next to him, the heat of the sun hugging their naked torsos quite harshly. It's 2 in the afternoon, says the time on Louis' laptop, and summer in LA is brutal. Louis still loves it, however--it's still worlds better than Paris.

After a while, Harry finally speaks up again, and this time his voice has taken on a much softer edge than earlier. "Well, no wonder she didn't inherit the good looks you possess."

"Hmm? Like what?"

At that question, Harry turns sideways and faces Louis full-frontally. His eyes are greener like this, Louis notes. They're so close to his own that Louis can actually count his eyelashes, and can see the plush pucker of his rosy bottom lip, and can trace the contours of the bridge of his nose and his perfectly constructed jawline... Louis feels a desire to paint him this way, too, in such a close proximity. Harry is so ethereal, and the natural beauty he possesses is even more evident with every centimeter that he is closer to him.

Louis is drowning in him. In _Harry, Harry, Harry_. In fact he is getting drawn into him so fully that he misses the part when Harry has started talking again.

"...Your blue eyes, Lou. Your thin lips too, your long eyelashes, your high cheekbones, and your... lovely, lovely bum."

"Oh," Louis flushes hot, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. " _Merci, mon amour_ ," he squeaks out.

Harry laughs. "God, I love it whenever I have you all flustered. Look so cute. So hot. Are you gonna fuck me tonight then, daddy? You've been gone for so long, and I just missed your lovely, big dick so dearly." To prove his point, Harry leans forward and runs his hand over Louis' rapidly forming semi, his lip-biting and doe-eyed demeanor making this action seem almost innocent, in a way.

"Harry," Louis whispers nervously, eyes shifting from where Freya is now laid out by the pool to Harry's dilating eyes that are right in front of his face, the young boy obviously craving for sex, for friction, for skin to skin contact. Louis shivers as he feels his dick harden even more with Harry now massaging it at a dangerously slow pace. "Don't, baby. _Please_ ," he hisses. "I can't... I can't have an erection right here. Not when Freya's around, princess."

Harry pouts, huffing indignantly. "You're no fun, I hate'chu," is what he says, and then he's standing up and retreating back to the pool, perky bum on display as he sashays away from Louis' tangible reach. _Damn._

Louis exhales a languid breath, eyes shutting tight--both relieved and disappointed. Relieved because Freya is still as clueless as she has been, and disappointed because now he has to take care of his aching bulge by himself.

Louis gets up from the chair moments later after he's regained (a little) composure and brings his laptop with him, sliding on his aviators and then leaves, the poor coffee Valeria made for him still untouched in his wake.

Back in his room ten minutes later, Louis takes out a bag of weed from one of his secret stashes in the bathroom and creates himself a joint. After that, he chooses to get high on his own, which isn't an unusual occurrence, willing his full-on erection to flag a bit, and then he flops down onto his bed and tries to take an afternoon nap. Perks of being an old dude, apparently.

He can still hear Harry and Freya laughing by the pool area at this point, and Louis can't even care any less. He knows when he's got someone wrapped around his finger, and he's sure Harry is definitely wrapped up in him enough to where he doesn't have to worry.

~*~

Twenty minutes in, Louis, as it's turned out, can't fall asleep. So instead he continues to smoke his weed, pacing around his room and contemplating on painting as he does so.

Another lit joint later, Louis has succumbed to such a high that he can barely see straight. He feels like he's floating, vision blurry and stinging as he glances around his room. He sees red, he sees circles crawling up the ceiling; bubbles that become balls, and then shift into tiny, colorful boxes, and then turn into long, long rectangles.

He blinks, turning his head from left to right, in a slow motion. He feels like every executed movement he makes is slow. Louis giggles loudly at himself, forcing his heavy eyelids to flutter rapidly, trying to speed something up because everything he does feels so slowed down. Fuck, he's so high off his ass.

He lays down on his bed once more, putting a hand over his eyes and taking a deep breath after he does so. His lungs feel clogged, like they're heavy and occupied with thick, grey smoke. Which, yeah, that is the exact phenomena that is happening. Louis loves it.

After a few more minutes of him riding his high, Louis hears his door create creaking noises out of nowhere, and then the sound is followed by what he detects as feet clicking against hardwood floor. Well. Someone's invaded his room, he knows. Then again he's just so high on drugs he can't make out who the fuck it is.

" _Qui est là ?_ (Who's there?)" He slurs, flailing as he tries to sit up. His body feels like jelly, utterly useless... And then--and then he's laughing again, because what the actual fuck? That can't be his voice! Louis laughs and laughs and laughs. His voice sounds stupid in his own ears.

The foot of Louis' bed dips, shutting him up effectively, and after the minute it does, Louis realizes then he's slowly being undressed by someone. He hefts himself up with his elbows and looks down in between his thighs, smiling when he sees a mop of curls and that oh so lovely smirk, paired with green, dark eyes that are boring into his own. Harry.

Louis is about to say something, perhaps about going to ask what is Harry doing here, but the words die in his throat the very moment he feels his cock springing off his boxer shorts, his shaft being wrapped up by the massive, heavenly hand of Harry Styles'.

Louis chokes as a result, feeling instantly good and horny and in need of more...whatever that more is.

Friction, he decides. That's what he needs. Just, he _needs_ more friction, okay. He needs Harry to act on it.

"Lovely cock." Louis hears Harry say in a hushed tone, voice raspy and amused, expert hand finally working over his length. Louis' breath hitches, hands immediately clutching the sheets beneath him.

He closes his eyes in bliss as he feels Harry's wet, soft tongue touching the slit of his penis, and then next the foreskin being brushed by a hard set of teeth... and then the same tongue yet again laving over the base of his cock. Two minutes in, he can already see stars forming at the back of his eyelids, the head of his cock is hitting the back of Harry's throat deliciously as the young lad hums around him.

Louis finally finds enough of his senses to look at over Harry in between his thighs and ask, "Where's Freya, baby?"

Harry breathes through his nose, and _God_ he looks so good and obscene like this, big mouth wrapped around Louis' cock, nose brushing Louis' stomach, and eyelashes cascading down to meet his flushed cheeks that are hollowing around Louis. Harry forces himself to look up over Louis and releases from where he is wrapped around his cock with an audible pop, a dribble of cum connecting Louis' cock to Harry's bottom lip. He smiles dazedly, eyelids heavy in obvious ecstasy, eyes dilated.

"Downstairs, with the maid," he answers slowly. And then adds huskily, "Daddy," taking Louis in again, making Louis gasp, this time swallowing him down fully in one swift motion, head bobbing up and down, tongue rubbing against his base. Louis tenses at that, toes curling.

With a few more thrusts of Harry's slick mouth over Louis' sensitive cock, Louis finally comes with a shout of, " _Fuck!_ " with fingers tangled desperately in Harry's curls.

He hears Harry giggle after that embarrassing release, feeling the boy licking him clean of his come from his cock to his exposed stomach, every stray strand of white sticky semen being greedily swallowed down, and--fuck if that doesn't impress him immensely.

Louis yawns without his consent, Harry crawling up his limp body, and then nestling at his side, cuddling him tight and comfortably. "She might walk in on us, you know," Louis rasps.

He feels Harry shake his own head, clinging onto his waist. "She won't, I locked your door."

"Oh."

"Yeah, so quit worrying and let me sleep. I haven't had a proper night in a while..."

"Really? Why is that, baby?" Louis asks, running a hand through Harry's hair.

"Because I was consumed with missing you. I felt restless. Sleepless... Welcome back, by the way." Leaning in, Harry drops a kiss on his lips.

Louis smiles against his lips, and then kisses Harry back. "Missed you too. My princess," he murmurs teasingly. Harry shoves at his chest lightly. And then they're both giggling, both falling asleep after a bit more of catching up too, snuggled against each other's warmth as they succumb to drowsiness.

~*~

It is eleven in the evening when consciousness hits Louis across the head. He jerks awake, thinking it's morning already. But then his room is wrapped up in silence and dimness, only the lamp open in the background, creating weak yellow hues across walls and their dark silhouettes on the one behind them.

It's still the same day, only it's nighttime. Louis looks around him and then quickly drops his gaze on the person cuddled next to his body.

He finds Harry's awake. He has probably been lying awake while he was still passed out. "Hey," he whispers, voice groggy.

"Hi," Harry immediately replies, smiling up at him and reaching out, fingertips tracing his jaw line. "Have I ever told you how fond I am of your stubble, Louis? They...actually left beard rashes across my thighs last time we fucked... my sister kept teasing me nonstop about it." Chuckles leave his mouth after his confession, dimples indenting his cheeks in an endearing manner. Louis can't help but reach out and pinch one of them.

"That's hot, baby," Louis murmurs. And then his hand slides down Harry's face...then his waist, stopping on his bum, squeezing it. Harry moans at the contact, huffs out a small keen when Louis starts kneading at the meat of it. "Well to be fair, lately I've noticed you've gained a more sizable arse. I love it."

Louis watches Harry flutter his eyes close in pleasure, urging Louis into massaging Harry's arse some more--harder, faster and obscenely, loving the sight in front of him; Harry writhing and responsive to his touch. Fuck.

"You know what my team told me this afternoon, baby? About my painting of you being naked back from three weeks ago..." Louis whispers in Harry's ear just as Harry's buried his face at the crook of Louis' neck. Harry groans in response, lips brushing against Louis' skin. "They told me you were brilliant--you look beautiful," Louis tells, accent stiff but flowing just right. "They told me you were a gift to me, princess, that I should paint more versions of you..."

Harry breathes out just as Louis' stopped kneading his ass, "Is that what you want then?"

Smiling, Louis says to him softly, fondly, "Only if you want me to. Otherwise I won't..."

Harry hums, nodding. And then Louis blinks slowly as he watches Harry's facial expression change from relaxed to thoughtful in two seconds flat.

Before he says, "Of course I'd want that. Anything for you, daddy. As long as you'll have me."

And that's...fuck. That's exactly what Louis' been dying to hear ever since this afternoon. Yes. "Alright then, baby. We can maybe start this week?" He asks hopefully.

In reply, Harry drawls out, "Sure," slowly breaking into a neat grin.

Louis lets out the breath he hadn't realized he's been apparently holding in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


	4. You Fit Me Better Than My Favorite Sweater ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey,, god!!! im so sorry for the long delay!! blame the holidays babes :/ :D anyway, here you go!! enjoy!!

♡♡♡♡

"See you tomorrow, Hazza!" Jade, his colleague at Velvety Roses, waves goodbye to Harry as she and her other friend Leigh-Anne descend from the dressing room with their forearms linked, leaving Harry alone in the room, still dressed in his casual clothing.

He smiles contently as he sits down and shimmies his bag off of his shoulder, focusing on the mirror and his reflection on it, switching on the yellow light bulbs that are placed along its frame. He doesn't have any circles under his eyes tonight, it seems; no trace of the tiredness and exhaustion that used to always be prevalent in his system, maybe the full-nights of sleep that he's been getting lately has finally began to pay off. Harry smiles to himself, knowing that his improved sleeping schedule is very much a derivative of who he is spending his nights in bed with. Harry's been feeling giddy and ecstatic lately, and since he doesn't want to jinx it, he opts for keeping it to himself. The whole thing.

Yes, he hasn't told any of his friends yet about Louis; the unmarried man he's been sleeping with for over the past two months now. Gemma and his mum are the only people that he even decided to inform about this matter, and Harry thinks he'll let it stay that way for now--for as long as he can manage, really.

The only problem is, he and Louis aren't even official yet (technically). Sure, they text every day, talking about their lives and their favorites, and basically anything that crosses their minds, but other than that, neither of them have deemed to put a label on what they are. Not explicitly, anyway.

**_To be honest, I immensely despise marmite chicken._ **

**_Really now ? But they're brilliant ! I'd love it if you would cook me some actually, mon amour ;) xx_ **

**_Ugh, Lewiiiiiiiis. But okay :) anything for DADDY_ **

**_No , but seriously ?_ **

**_Seriously. But you know whattttttt?_ **

**_What , baby ? :)_ **

**_I wanna be the Coney Island queen..._ **

**_Oh , but you are !! :)_ **

**_But like, I kinda wanna live there, see. I wanna build a house near that place, I wanna be able to visit it any time??_ **

**_Well ... babe , again , you will :) just you wait and see ! ;)_ **

**_Huh. What do you mean 'just wait and see?' :o_ **

**_Louis._ **

**_LOUIS?_ **

**_Daddy! :/_ **

It has been nearly three months since they first met, like officially met--nearly three months since Harry went over to Louis' place for a proper introduction.

After Louis' returned from his trip to Paris back in mid-July, they've gone out on posh dates, well, that's what Harry calls it, and they still regularly go out whenever Louis' free. Louis has taken him to extravagant restaurants around LA, bought him flowers and offered him joyrides downtown, and whenever they got back to Louis' mansion in Beverly Hills they'd have mind blowing sex that would make Harry feel like he's walking on air for days.

They call each other when they're not together, having decided that they didn't want to limit their communication to just texting, visit the other when one is working and the other isn't, and just, they can't seem to get enough of one another--it's almost like they're over-infatuated teenagers that are undeniably in lust with their brand new crush and it's addicting. Louis has been painting different versions of Harry relentlessly, and Harry has been basking in Louis' talent and open devotion to him. It's the type of infatuation that's more like a whirlwind and Harry wants to swim in it forever.

When Louis is gone to destinations for work and Harry is unable to visit him, Louis usually brings home souvenirs or postcards when he returns.

_"So, hey, I was at work tonight and I heard this song on the radio and thought of you. Just thought I'd call you up and share the news," Harry rasps over the line, grinning madly to himself, talking about an 80's love song he heard from the radio._

_"That's cute, baby," Louis replies in a fond voice, sighing on the other line. "I'm actually signing some papers at the moment. Exhausting, if you ask me. Im glad you called, just what I needed. Thank you."_

_Harry hums, nodding despite the fact Louis doesn't see him._

_And then after a beat of comfortable silence, "God, I wanna see you, Lou," Harry confesses, groaning. "Miss you."_

_"I know, baby," Louis agrees softly, his tone near-cooing. "But I have to finish with this, though... Hmm. How about I take the first flight Friday morning and hop on a plane to get home to you, oui? And then before you even wake up the next day I'll be on that bed of yours, sucking you off so good you won't even know how to breathe proper. How does that sound?"_

_"Sounds like a plan..."_

_"Mhmm. Glad we agree."_

It's been set in stone that Louis will be painting every version of Harry that he can possibly dream up--which Harry feels so special and beautiful--and so he dresses up for the older lad to have his figure translated on the canvases, articulately painted on by various paintbrushes and poster paints. They do this a lot, even though it's only possible for them to do it when Freya's not around. The lass parties a lot, and it has only made more sense to Harry that she and Louis didn't really share a lot of things in common because, apparently, she was adopted when she was a teenager and had a difficult time throughout her past. Now she's rebelling, and her actions only worsened when her dads parted ways years prior. She's more fond of Phil, Harry now understands--that guy who broke Louis' heart by cheating. Harry isn't really that bothered by any of this, now that he knows...a little.

Taking out his outfit for his tonight's performance, Harry immediately strips off his casual clothing and then slips on a new pair of tight women's jeans and his new pink floral sheer shirt he bought from YSL. He fixes his hair as he looks at the mirror, ruffles it a few notches, and then slips on his trademark headscarf, some of his curls sticking out. He decides to leave them be. For the final touch, Harry puts the clip-on earring (a cross design, because he and his sister have got an affinity for cross and it's their thing now), the one Gemma got him last week, and he's finally done by wearing his sparkly boots.

Harry slips out of the dressing room to see if his mate, Ed, has already finished with his own performance on stage, but when he sees he is only halfway through his last set, it gives Harry a few more spare minutes to relax in the dressing room.

He sits yet again on his stool, tapping his fingers against the chipped wood of his vanity. He didn't have an incoming text from Louis when Harry checked it early on, and he wonders if there is one now. He isn't unlocking his phone to find out though, he's too anxious to do so. In the end, Harry just picks up the lipstick straying in his reach and applies some on his lips, completing it by pursing his plump lips together. And Harry wants to giggle as he stares back at his own reflection, because fuck if he doesn't look great. Louis will totally bend him over his desk later on tonight, he's sure of it. Harry grins wickedly at the thought, feeling himself blush at the image entertaining his mind.

~*~

Harry's got five songs in his set list for the night, all will be played by Ed, who is his backup guitarist, and he's ready to perform as soon as he steps on the stage, the spotlight focused solely on his figure, playing glorious shadows with the contours of his body.

This is what Harry loves doing, he has always loved it, but now he's loving it even more--especially now he's got inspiration. Harry puts on his most charming smile, knowing Louis has promised to be in the audience tonight, wanting to give his best. He's picked out his most favorite songs he has spent days rehearsing over and over again, and he's determined to show his daddy what he's worthy of.

The room is dimmed, Velvety Roses once again filled with men and queer folks, the majority of the crowd being bikers and drunken travelers from either the south or up north.

Harry grips his personal microphone, the green taped below visible to the audience, his gaze searching the crowd for a certain man with the fiercest persona he's ever been acquainted with in his entire entity. The one man that's actually made him feel sexy and fuckable by just being stared down by him. The one man that can give him one piercing, icy gaze racking over his body and make him feel weak in the knees. The one man that can make him either bend over a table and beg to be fucked or drop down to his knees in a millisecond flat, mouth wide open so his throat will get gagged, mouthful of thick, hard cock. _Louis fucking Tomlinson._ His man, his painter, his Frenchman fresh from Paris, who always smells of expensive perfume, always is adorning Rolex watches on his wrist and loves driving him places with his black Mercedes Benz.

Harry licks his lips just as his eyes stop directly on him, finally; there, right there. Louis is seated on a stool by the bar, wearing what Harry can make out to be some royal blue blazer and trousers that match, his soft fringe brushed up, revealing his forehead, aviators perched over his nose and covering his dominating blue eyes, a flower pinned to his suit's breast pocket, probably an indication he's just gone to some event and went straight from there to see Harry without bothering to change. And fuck-- _fuck_ he looks good, is the thing. Daddy looks so fucking god-like, a fucking modern-day James Dean. And Harry's so weak for him; so, so weak for him.

Has seemingly noticed he's been looking, Louis raises his hand holding a pint and commemorates a toast to Harry. Harry just nods, face instantly numbing with heat, shoulders sagging into submission. Yep, Harry the usually confident and notorious harlot is a downright submissive when it comes to Louis, and yes, it's insanely ridiculous.

"Good evening, boys," Harry greets over the crowd, his voice echoing all over the dingy ole bar. Wolf whistles and loud whooping erupt from the audience, men of different sizes and colors clapping enthusiastically. Harry smiles his best, batting his eyelashes in a flirtatious manner. "How's everyone's night so far? If there's any newcomers here, please kindly stand so the veterans can welcome y'all."

There are four or five newcomers who stand, earning greetings from others, and Harry spends that chance to look at Louis across the bar yet again, catching Louis watching him intently while sipping on his beer. Harry winks at the older man, before proceeding to speak over the mic. "So, tonight folks, Ed here, you guys know him. He is gonna be my guitarist. And of course, as per usual I'll be singing five different songs for you all."

There's another round of bustling and applause, but when it dies down, Harry takes that as his cue. Ed starts plucking, strumming the first notes.

And so Harry closes his eyes and starts with the first verse, already quite into the moment. " _Blue jeans, white shirt. Walked into the room you know you made my eyes burn. It was like, James Dean, for sure... You're so fresh to death and sick as ca-cancer..._ "

~*~

Harry tries not to squirm as Louis nibbles on his left ear. He fails anyway, giggling madly as he scoots away from Louis' reach. "Look so beautiful tonight, baby," Louis murmurs softly, smiling from the driver's seat. "Earring looks perfect on you, too, maybe I should buy you a whole set."

"Really now," Harry challenges, cocking a brow at Louis mischievously. He's lighting a cigar, putting it in between his lips.

" _Oui, chéri._ You look pretty in them," Louis insists as he nods vigorously to get his point across, turning onto a street and honking at another car. They're on their way back to Louis', with Louis driving them both in his car number three, as Harry marks it. He's got six of them, so it's best to just be naming them by numbers. Harry sometimes goes to work without bringing his own car, knowing Louis will fetch him in one of his exuberant vehicles.

"Fine, fine. Thank you, babe, but that's a no," Harry responds after his giggling fit, blushing red. He thinks _nice try_ with Louis even suggesting buying him things. Don't get Harry wrong--he believes Louis' only being sweet and nice at the same time for spoiling him, but. Really. Louis spends ridiculous amounts of money on him, despite the money usually going towards dates and free rides, free food. Perhaps buying him something every once in a while is good, but not this soon though. Louis has literally just bought Harry a new cellphone, he doesn't need anything else.

Shaking his head at the thought, Harry exhales the grey smoke and makes a face after realizing they're suffocated inside the car.

"Are you sure? But you'll definitely look wonderful in other designs, Harry," Louis presses on. Harry shuts him up by leaning over and kissing his open mouth. Louis moans in response, and before he can even kiss back, Harry pulls away and sticks his tongue out, teasing Louis and making him make that gaping, surprised look he's giving Harry, and then takes another drag from his cigar. "Tease you are, doll. Keep it up and daddy won't fuck you tonight," Louis tells him.

Laying back, Harry puts his legs up and rolls down the window next to him, letting the brisk evening air swell against his face, grabbing a stick of gum and starting chewing. He lets his smoke join the fluttering whisps of wind as he ignores Louis' threat altogether; knowing full well, not he nor Louis actually believes that bullshit. "So, where were you before you went to VR? You look pretty fancy to me, wearing that suit and everything." He gestures with his hand to give emphasis to what he's pertaining to.

Humming, Louis stops at a red light and thrums his fingers against the steering wheel, glancing at Harry. "Was called in to have a meeting with the rest of the gallery insulators just this afternoon; discussed a few things, mostly about the blueprinting of the place... They needed me in a tux, I gave them matching suits." Louis smiles again, removing his aviators and wearing them to Harry, catching Harry off guard a bit. "Did you like it?"

Harry bites his lip, keeping himself from breaking into a fully wide grin at that. "Like?" He breathes out, fixing the glasses over his nose and pecking Louis' hand. "I _love_ it, Lou. Truly," he says honestly. "How was the meeting, though?"

Louis shrugs. "Alright."

Harry nods.

The ride doesn't take long now, the two of them laughing about absolutely nothing and every little thing mentioned, and before Harry can even finish his third cigarette, Louis' pulling him inside the house and is backing him up against the wall, hungrily going for his jaw and nipping at his skin, the chance that Valeria could be lingering by the kitchen doorway be damned. Harry laughs as he has the need to drop his cigarette stick on the floor's tiles, hugging Louis with his right leg and letting their groins grind.

"Honey, don't you think we should..." Harry starts but sooner trails off, just as Louis lets out a low mixture of growl and moan, letting go of Harry and then dashing up the stairs, looking back just to signal Harry to follow him.

Harry does as he's told, taking two steps at a time as he ties up his hair in a bun.

Once they get to Louis' room, Harry is bent over the bed with his arse poised upwards into thin air in record time, Louis lingering behind him, probably admiring his pert bum from behind, given the fact he's not even touching Harry but just breathing on his exposed hole. Harry groans and squirms, whining his protests at all of the impatience that's swirling in his abdomen. "Sshh, baby. Just... let daddy look at your beauty for a little while more," Louis whispers huskily, obviously hot but is refraining in the name of casually admiring someone's ass. Jesus.

Hot in the ears, Harry swallows as he wiggles his ass a bit, face smashed against the plush pillows on Louis' bed, hands clutching the sheets as he waits it out. He can feel his muscles retracting at each fan of breath Louis lets out that hits his cooling skin, feeling his dick already forming a semi. And fuck, Harry _needs_ Louis to do something.

"Please..." He pleads, word muffled by the sheets.

"So, so beautiful, baby. So pink, that hole of yours. I love it. If only I can paint you looking like this. So loose, so submissive for daddy," Louis recites, tone of voice clearly enticed, and wow. He really, surely makes Harry feel so admired--treasured--and cherished. And no man has _ever_... not in this level of, not this way, considering he'd always been just a fuck. Harry's heart feels as though it will fucking explode, just thinking about the possibility that he may not be anymore.

Writhing on the bed, Harry untangles his legs from the duvet and spreads his thighs for Louis' sake of better access. He hears the older man hum in appreciation as he does just that. Harry thinks he's ready. Like so damn ready.

Moments to their silence, eventually so, Louis grabs on Harry's arse cheeks and slaps one of them, making Harry hiss in both pleasure and striking pain, pushing forward and sheets-clenching. Louis yet again lets out a low growl, and then he's suddenly sticking his tongue across Harry's sensitive rim, tasting him, spiky stubble against meaty flesh.

Moans and multiple incoherence escape Harry's lips just as Louis' started properly eating him, tongue lapping across his hole and nibbling, thin lips against tingling pink skin. "Oh, _jesus fuck_ ," Harry suppresses in a low voice, breathing heavily in and out. Louis rewards him with another spanking at that, making him yet again yelp and writhe responsively, consistent currents of arousal coursing through his veins and going directly to his untouched cock. He can feel himself leaking and it's driving him fucking mad.

" _Tellement bon pour papa_ (So good for daddy)," Louis murmurs against his puckered hole, eager tongue pushing in and out, hot breath fanning and rendering goosebumps on Harry's exposed arms.

"Louis... Louis..." Harry chants in loud squeaks, "please, daddy... just... please..." Harry doesn't really know what he's begging for if he's honest, but with situations such as this one, he can't seem to help murmur words out of his mind. It's ridiculous. They are ridiculous. But Harry thinks they fit anyway.

And so it goes. Louis continues to eat him out, hand spanking his ass again and making him moan loud, before going for his completely hardened dick between his thighs, and then pumping on it fast. Harry feels wrecked quite already after that, can't stay still, pushing and pushing his ass toward Louis' face for more, more, _more_. Louis gives it to him, he's a non-difficult negotiator when it comes to giving anyway. He may be is born to give.

After a few more thrusts, Louis frees him for just two seconds and then quickly flips him over, spreading his legs wide. Harry's so dizzy with pleasure he can barely see straight now.

And until it all gets blurry from there, being the only thing Harry is remembering is that of Louis fucking him hard without the use of condom and only lubricant, leaving him limp and pliant in contentment afterwards, cleaning him up off come and the both of them sleeping the night off, cuddled up in heavenly soft bundles.

He also remembers Louis kissing the top of his head as he spoons him from behind.

~*~

By the time Harry stirs awake the next day, he finds himself curled up in a ball, strong, tattooed arms wrapped around his torso, soft snores being pressed against his nape. Harry allows it as Louis' still deep in his slumber.

Harry ever so slowly takes Louis' arm off his body and presses his feet on the ground, stretching his arms wide and then padding across the room. Harry gets in the bathroom with nothing on, switches the lights on, and borrowing a toothbrush from Louis. He brushes his teeth to get rid of the staleness that formed overnight, washes his face with cold water, and then takes a morning wee.

When Harry leaves the loo, he sees Louis' still peacefully sleeping, so that gives him more time to himself.

He sits on his rumpled side of the bed, and gives into the urge to look at Louis' sleeping figure next to him, and to just like, admire what he's like. He stares for a bit before the thought occurs that watching Louis sleep is weird and creepily intimate, considering they aren't even official. The realization brings a stinging feeling in Harry's stomach. For some reason that he can't define.

Speaking of, Harry should probably cook them some breakfast.

Picking up his underwear off the ground, Harry quickly slips it on, and then, seeing as his overnight clothes are all somewhat dried off of the work's worth of sweat, Harry disregards them and just goes straight to Louis' closet and plunders it for something he can fit into. He chooses an oversized jumper in the end since it's the only thing that can wrap around his bigger frame. It's a lavender colored one and is tremendously cute, and it's large enough that it stops on his thighs and leaves his underwear out of plain sight, creating sweater paws with how long each sleeve is. Harry happily sneaks out the room wearing just that, and then he travels down to the kitchen, meeting Valeria halfway there.

"Hi!" Harry greets her cheerfully, waving a hand and dimpling, leaving Valeria no choice but to swallow down her French and say _Hello_ back, accent exceptionally thick. Giggling at the sound of it, Harry proceeds to the kitchen and drags the old woman with him, linking their arms together enthusiastically, as though they've been the best of buddies for years. It is the first time Harry hears Valeria's laughter bubble from her lips, asking how last night had went--casually too! Well, Harry's just as proud and vocal as he tells her about everything, from his performance to the ride back home, minus the awesome sex, though. Because he's kind enough to spare her those details.

When they reach the kitchen, they both help each other make pancakes and tea, Valeria willingly giving Harry the details as to where things are around the massive place, and as to how does Louis like his breakfast each morning in "the Mademoiselle Valeria way". Harry's just really happy he gets along with the housemaid, no matter if she's only that; a housemaid.

Two sunny side ups, a few sausages and mountains of perfectly browned pancakes later, Harry and Valeria take the trays full of food with them and soldier back up the staircase, taking their time strolling along the long quiet hallway, and then stopping at the door to Louis' room.

It's Harry who hip-checks the door open to reveal a still sleeping Louis by the bed, only now that the man has changed positions. Harry nods at Valeria as she beckons to place the tray by the bedside table, and then she leaves with a kind smile right after that. Harry, on the other hand, places the tray he's holding on the other bedside table where Louis lies near, leaning down to whisper in Louis' ear.

" _Mon amour_ ," Harry coos, attempting French. It causes him to laugh when Louis pries an eye open at hearing him say that.

" _Bonjour, chéri_ ," Louis rasps, smiling tiny at him. Harry smiles back, his heart pounding drastically in his chest at how blue, blue, blue Louis' eyes are as he looks back at him, especially when the sunlight is hitting his face like this, softly contoured eyelids and nose and cheekbones presented like magnificence at its best. Harry aches to touch him, feel the stubble that, yet again, left rashes on his pale, sensitive bum and thighs--serving as a reminder just how sensational Louis Tomlinson truly is.

"Made you breakfast, Lou. Heard pancakes with the side of eggs and sausages are your favorites..."

" _Ooh_ ," Louis muses in excitement, chuckling lightly. He sits up slowly after a while, and Harry immediately busies himself bringing the trays over to the bed, placing each in between himself and Louis, laying the food down. "This is so lovely, Haz," is what Louis says as he takes his first bite out of three layers of pancake, chewing happily. "I didn't know you can cook! I'm so used to French and Italian cuisines, but this," Louis stops to take another large bite out of a sausage with a piece of egg, before finishing his sentence with a mouthful, "this is _good_."

Seeing the bright smile painting Louis' lips as he eats, Harry can't help smile to himself as well as he looks down on his own food-full of plate, mentally patting his head in victory at his success of having Louis' clear as day stamp of approval at his cooking skills. He thinks perhaps he'll cook for Louis more in the future... like, just to see that wonderful, handsome smile again. Especially the part where Louis' eyes are crinkling at the sides, cheeks dented with hints of dimples and pinks. And Harry never even knew Louis has dimples. That's news. _Amazing_ news.

After they're done eating, Louis sets their trays aside and pulls Harry back in bed with him, nuzzling his face against Harry's exposed collarbone. "Glad you loved the breakfast I cooked, Lou."

"Mhmm," Louis hums in affirmation, pressing a soft, lingering kiss on Harry's throat. "Was so good, baby. I'm impressed."

"Valeria helped me a bit. She's a very nice woman," Harry says softly.

"She is, she is. Been working under me since my twenties."

"Really?" Harry drawls, grinning down at Louis because of the new information, imagination kicking in as he thinks about a young version of Louis, already posh and oh so lovely with less wrinkles and brisk skin, fringe softer and probably always kept lying against his forehead, being served by a French younger Valeria, early discovery of his talent in painting on the works. And then there's the thought of a younger Louis in French style clothing next, suspenders and tight trousers hugging his thighs and legs probably, flat vintage shoes with his ankles out, beret or potato type of hats atop his head, long and thick black eyelashes cascading shadows over the hollows of his prominent cheekbones. And damn--damn if Harry's not so fond of him; damn if Harry's not so drawn in his daydream he actually forgets just how he's literally holding the older version of the same Louis he's imagining inside his head.

Harry's just...he just really feels blessed to have met Louis amidst his laid back lifestyle.

He can still remember how things had went for him before all these. He used to sleep with different men each night, going home with them after a night spent working at VR, and then leaving first thing in the morning with not so much as a greeting, credits left unspoken despite a previously good hell of a fuck.

It's different with Louis though; it's a whole different story when it comes to the old Frenchman, it seems. This one, Harry actually enjoys spending time with, has so much fun with, has several laughing moments with. Harry never did that to any man he'd ever let either fuck or touch him from the past. Just Louis. And it's only Louis, too, that he's ever confessed how he wishes he could just forget his job and fly to New York next, make rounds in Coney Island, build a house near there and then spend the rest of his life visiting back and forth and spend time making memories at the Boardwalk.

Call Harry a child, call Harry juvenile, but it's what he's always wanted. Living nearby Coney Island will always be in his Bucket List, and he'll always be proud of that optimum. There are many things Harry likes. One of which being dressed up. And then there's the freedom of wearing lipstick, wearing head scarves, wearing earrings, prancing gracefully, having his hair grown freely, singing songs for men, painting his nails various colors and all that...

But there are more things Harry wants done, and if only he can go to Coney Island...

"You look perfect in my clothes, sweetheart, maybe I should let you wear them all the time," Louis suddenly tells Harry, breaking him from his heavy thinking.

Harry smiles down at Louis' grinning facial expression in a lieu of compensating, fireworks exploding for the first time ever since they looked at each other this close and this serene; Louis looks like the sun, Harry decides, and Harry is the moon. Louis' moon. The one running after him, but not being given a chance by the universe itself anyway. It's gonna be exhausting, it's the inevitable, but Harry the moon will do anything just to get to Louis the sun in any way he can either way, so there really is no point of discussion.

"Well, I love being in your clothes. They smell just like you. Makes me feel safe wearing them," Harry tells Louis honestly.

Louis laughs lightly, tapping Harry's chin. "I am glad, baby doll," he says, voice a bit groggy. Harry leans in and captures Louis' lips, closing his eyes at the instant bliss it gives, sucking at the man's bottom lip much longer, before letting go of it with a flourish. "Say, what do you feel about going out of town, Harry?"

Harry opens his eyes. "Mmhm, where to?"

Wiggling his eyebrows, Louis grins widely. "You know... to the city that never sleeps? I am not working for a week, so I thought maybe... you might want to ask that boss of yours for a leave of absence, so--"

" _Yes!_ " Harry squeals, not even letting Louis finish his sentence, excitement bursting through his veins. He's so excited about going he has just lost all traces of finesse. "Yes, yes, _yes_ , Louis! Oh my God!"

Laughing, Louis flips them over and Harry goes along with it, laughing too. And then they're rolling uncontrollably as they hug each other, both of them ending up lying on the floor. Harry hurriedly scrambles up to his feet just as he's recovered from his excitement, straddling Louis' hips and leaning down to snog him senseless. Harry feels so ecstatic he's afraid he might just burst from it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did u like it?
> 
> i will update soon, i promise!!! comments and kudos though might just motivate meee hehehe. happy new year, loves!!! <3


	5. I Can Play Most Anything, I'm A Brooklyn Baby ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> daddy spoils his baby <3

♡♡♡♡

Pecking against glass wakes Harry up right in the middle of a dreamless after-sex nap, rendering a muffled groan from him, urge of getting up zeroed in, and two bare feet landing on cold tiles. He pads toward the sliding door that leads to a balcony where the noise is coming from, pulling the curtain a little and being faced with the early morning scenario. The bird nosing about his apartment sill startles into scramming away, Harry seeing the sun hasn't woken yet, cars passing by his hometown propping the streets.

He's naked all over, last night's come stains still lingering across his bare back from when Louis took him from behind and came while he was bent over the bed and a writhing mess, but he does not feel cold one bit. Is not strange at all though, is it? Harry looks back at the bed where he used to lie and looks at the man he's spent three days and nights with in this apartment; then he looks down at his body and his limping dick in between his thighs, and thinks, _it is all worth it._ Because it is. Harry wants to think it is.

Harry's filed a leave of absence at Velvety Roses days ago so that he can spend more time with Louis since the older man himself hasn't a job to attend to for a few weeks, making it therefore possible for them to hang out constantly for the following days to come. And it was a risky move for Harry's part, that he knows of, since he's a very ideal client at the said nightclub at the moment, and having him absent for days might lower the incomes VR receive, to which might result of the bar closing itself. Harry is a well-known singer at the club, and men travel their way there just to see him...so if he isn't going to be there, then that could be such a massive problem.

He's just gone his way into risking two things for one man. One man he isn't even sure would stick around unlike the others who had left him because all they wanted was a taste of him and nothing more.

But seeing Louis like this, though...

Like, this soft and sleeping and peaceful; innocent, perfect and cuddly in his creaky old bed. It makes Harry think that what he did was rather... worth it. And he doesn't even know why in the world he's thinking about this at the earliest of the morning, really. Harry must be in way over his head, _Jesus_ , he has to stop _now_. Now.

Since when did he become soft towards some man who fucks him? Doesn't matter if it's good, it's still sex. His and Louis' relationship, or whatever this is, it revolves around sex. Just sex.

Fuck.

Shaking his head, Harry heads toward his study desk and picks up his phone, sneaks out the room and flops down on the couch by the living area, dialing his mom's number. Harry waits until Anne answers, and when she does the first thing that comes out of his mouth is, "Mom, I think I'm falling for him," because really, there's no point in lying and hiding things from his mother. She always tends to know no matter how much he secrets such anyway... She's his super mom as he calls her in occasion.

"Oh, baby," comes the coo of Anne from the other line, voice raspy as an indication of her just waking up, something Harry cringes at as he realizes it at the same time. "Really now? How does he feel about you then?"

Harry sniffles, resting his head against the armrest. "I don't know, mom..." He murmurs, frown etched across his face. He runs a hand across it, closing his eyes and sighing. "And uhm, I'm sorry if I woke you. I just really don't know who to call and to whom should I vent. Nobody knows about Louis and I except for you and Gems..."

"Oh, hush, Harry. You know you can always call me and vent, baby. Anytime, you hear?" Anne reprimands, making Harry nod despite she can't see. That's just really how a mother like her affects Harry. "If there's anything I can do to make you feel all better, just tell me H, alright? I will go there in your apartment if I have to, in any inconvenient time, you know that."

"Yes, mom, I know..." Harry says softly, opening his eyes and looking up at the lifeless looking ceiling. It's old and it's filthy, the paper cracking awfully, a sign of just how old this building really is. Harry loves this place too much to move anyway; it may be not much, but it's home. "Thank you for answering my call. That's all I need right now--hearing the voice of a loved one."

Anne hums and Harry takes it that she's smiling from where she is--which is back at their humble home in Mississippi, where he grew up and had had his childhood lived and spent with his old friends and classmates, his big sister too and grandparents. Harry should probably revisit soon, but... he just hasn't the time for now. In fact, especially not now that he's caught up with some or the other particular things.

"Alrighty then, sweetheart. I understand. Well, if you ever need me, again, just always call, okay? Come home to me if needed as well."

"Yes, mom. I will. Thank you..." Harry pauses, rubbing his temple and getting up from the couch. "I love you, mommy."

"As I love you, my baby."

~*~

After leaving his sister a pretty much love-filled, melancholic, uber sentimental venting voicemail, Harry strolls back inside his bedroom where Louis is still cloaked in peacefulness and harmless dreams, spooning a pillow with his leg propped above it, eyelashes cascading soft shadows over hollowed rosy tanned cheeks, light snores following the crispy warm air.

Harry nears his man as he sets down his phone on the desk, pulls at the covers as he reaches the bed, replaces the pillow Louis is hugging with himself, and then sleeps again like that, skin to skin touching, breathing falling into the same rhythm.

He did not stand a chance.

~*~

Waking up for the second time feels better. His usually bad back didn't serve as a bother, and his body clock didn't completely fuck itself up. Harry opens his eyes and adjusts his sights against the normally present first burns caused by the scorching sunbeams, letting out a yawn and a free stretch, rendering a small laugh from a certain someone.

"Seriously, Lou?" Harry says in a wee bit sarcastic demure, left eyebrow raised in cheeky demand, smirking at Louis by the foot of the bed, whose hand clutching a paintbrush and a palette on the other.

Shrugging nonchalantly, Louis smiles at Harry before solemnly winking in a rather playful way. "Forgive me, mon amour. You just look so perfect and young like an infant slumbering like that. And I'm only human, you should've known."

Nodding along, Harry lets out a brief string of giggles as he hoists himself up a bit, resting his cheek against his knuckles. "Right. I should've--I should've known. _Of course_ ," he says sarcastically, no heat upon it.

Louis rolls his eyes as he shakes his head. He puts down his painting equipments and round his piece of canvas (where he's probably half-finished painting Harry sleeping already, again, for what seems to be the fifth time ever since he first did it) and gets to where Harry is by the bed only to greet him properly with a long, hard kiss on the mouth.

"I ordered Chinese. You hungry, baby?" Louis asks against their lips, pulling back shortly. Nodding, Harry properly sits now and lets his feet land on the ground, duvet covering him from waist down.

Moments since Harry's woken up, he and Louis have started eating their breakfast in boxes as Louis' set aside his drafting altogether, has drank wine Louis also bought from 7-Eleven two blocks away from Harry's apartment building, and then Louis is eventually telling him a 'very exciting' story about his trip to Arizona the other week.

Harry listens to him talk, mostly mesmerized by his thick French accent and his bobbing Adam's apple, stubble looking prickly and pink lips a little seeming greasy because of what they've just eaten. Harry wants to lick them clean, but then Louis interrupts his thoughts suddenly, from the moment he's stood up to get something from his bag. "It's not much, Harry," Louis is saying as he rummages through his belongings, "but I bought them for you anyway because I know you love wearing the lot of them." And then he pulls out a couple of obviously brand new sheer shirts varying from pastel colored floral fabrics to velvet violets and blues. Harry's eyes widen, lips parting slowly at what he's seeing.

"Those are from Yves Saint Laurent..." He muses in recognition, and then his eyes flick from the sheer shirts being handed to him to Louis' fonding eyes, "Louis... I can't... I _cannot_ accept those. They're... they must've cost thousands of dollars!"

"Ah, but, honey--," Louis begins to explain doing hand gestures, until Harry cuts him off though, standing up and pacing frantically.

"No, Lou. I--this is all too much. I can't accept this, I--,"

"Harry," Louis says calmly, posh persona intact as ever.

"No, I just, I _can't_ , Louis. You--you are awesome, really. But the thing is... The thing is you've given me so much, so many good things quite already. You bought me boots, you brought me to fancy restaurants, you drove me places, you buy me roses. God, you even bought me an iPhone! And it was even the latest model, for Elvis' sakes. I can't possibly accept this! This is _madness_ \--"

"Harry!" Louis finally raises his voice. And Harry shuts up in instant with that. Good. Sighing, Louis fixes him a look. "Honey, _breathe_ ," he says calmly. And Harry obeys him, breathing in and out. God, Louis' eyes are so fucking blue. And what is Harry even thinking? He shakes his thoughts away. A minute to their pause, Louis tells him sounding sincere, "Babe, look. This thing I do, buying you things, spoiling you, bringing you to places you've never been to... I do this because I want to. Not because I'm buying you--your time, your company... I'm simply doing this because it makes me happy. Spending dollars on you makes me happy. And, you know what else?"

"What?" Harry murmurs, feeling his cheeks heat up. He can't look at Louis right now. He can't. He can't and he won't.

"And you're worth it. Very much so, darling," Louis says, voice extra soft and extra fond. Harry's just about melting into a pile of goo. He's like--turning into a freaking marshmallow. Or whatever.

"But... but..."

"No buts, baby. Just accept these clothes. Besides, no one's gonna fit in these except for you. Freya wouldn't wear them either, and there's no way I'd let her. Considering these are especially for you."

Blinking at Louis, after all the resistant, Harry eventually sags as he lets out a sigh of defeat. He walks toward Louis and ends up sitting on his lap, leaning in and capturing Louis' lips as he cups his face even so, kissing him like there's literally no tomorrow. And they make out for the better part of the good ten minutes until they're lying on Harry's bed again, last night's clothes still scattered across the floor, brand new YSL sheer shirts piled at the foot of the creaky old bed.

"Thank you, Lou," whispers Harry to Louis' dick as he's volunteered sucking him off, some sort of an exchange to all the touching lines Louis' told him just now. Louis leans up on his elbow to look at him in between his deliciously tanned spread out thighs, grinning from ear to ear, eyes dark and hair a messy nest. Harry thinks he's the most gorgeous man he's ever met.

"Anytime, chéri," Louis replies to him right then, voice raspy in clear arousal and bamboozle, dick hard and thick and leaking as is. Harry grins back at him with a tiny wink, and then he gets on with it. He sucks Louis off quick, pumps eagerly on his dick, making him come twice in a row in bliss, and then cleaning the semen with the use of his tongue and lips afterwards as he kisses his thighs and exposed belly and cock head. Louis pulls him in and kisses him passionately, tasting himself in Harry's jizz-filled sinfully reddish mouth.

~*~

Moments to their morning bond, Harry and Louis find themselves later lying side by side the bed with their bare thighs and legs tangled to each other's, Louis' back against the headboard, Harry's head resting above Louis' chest, fingers tracing his _It Is What It Is_ tattoo. The sun outside has fully risen now, and the clouds submerging with a couple of birds loudly chirping; it's a Thursday, and Harry has no job to worry about. He wonders if this is gonna be his life for the next few days and a week, if this is how he and Louis will spend the rest of their day offs together for the time allowed spending.

And the answer to his musings comes briefly the moment Louis opens his mouth, dainty slim fingers stopping through Harry's loosened long curls. "I've booked up a flight last night when you were already sleeping. We're leaving in a few hours, sorry I forgot to tell you immediately."

"What?" Harry breathes out, heart rabbitting in his chest right away. "Where are we..."

"Didn't you say you wanna be the Coney Island queen?" teases Louis, nudging Harry's cheek.

Eyes lighting up, Harry shoots up in a sitting position as he guffaws at Louis excitedly. "No fucking way," he drawls out, slowly breaking into a grin.

Louis laughs wholeheartedly, eyes crinkling at the both sides and white set of teeth flashing widely. "Yes way, mon amour," he says in confirmation.

And so Harry squeals in delight as he starts hopping and jumping on the bed, chanting yes, yay, yes, yo cheerfully like the goof he is, making Louis laugh and laugh and laugh even more.

~*~

In a matter of hours to their getting ready for an 8 hour flight, packing stuff and guitar and toiletries, showering together in a haste, and getting to the airport by yellow thrashing cab, Harry's finally, finally seated inside a first class plane on his and Louis' way to New York, taking the seat by the window with Louis on the other one next to him, feeling giddy and ecstatic about absolutely everything that's happening right now. If he thought he'd just be lazing back in his apartment with the man he's letting fucking him on a daily, then Harry now thinks fuck, fuck, fuck, because _he's going to New York! New fucking York!_

Harry can't believe it. He keeps on grinning from ear to ear as he looks around the plane, jaw aching in a good way with it, dimples denting his face, cheeks hot and heartbeats wildly racing. And fuck. Harry is going to New York, he'll be visiting the legendary Coney Island as well as walk along its infamous imminent boardwalk, see and travel Brooklyn for the first time, and of course shop and dine and live for a week in the city that never ever damn sleeps. Merlin's beard! And now Harry's becoming British, because reasons. He doesn't give a shit right now though, really, he's just so fucking happy.

He looks at his left and leans over to check at the hallway across rows of seats to check on Louis who's gone to take a pee. Seeing he isn't in plain sight just yet, Harry sits back and takes his pack of cigarette out and lighter instead while waiting, putting a stick in between his lips, almost lighting it up already, but then a stewardess takes it from him with a loud huff. " _Hey_ ," Harry whines in surprise, looking up at the seething, appalled lady standing before him.

"Excuse me, but it is not allowed to smoke in the plane, sir," she says in aggravated disbelief, putting both hands on each of her hips.

Harry blinks at her mostly as he's yet realizing it, and until he does that he sags a little, grinning at her sheepishly. "I--uh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Christ," the lady steward lets out, shaking her head as she passes by--Harry's lighter in her hand. Great. Harry sighs as he leans back, closing his eyes and frowning.

After a while, "This must be your first time, huh, doll face?" Someone who's at the front of Harry's seat says, making Harry snap his eyes open and see who it is.

Turns out it's an old man, probably in their late 40's or something, hair the color of gray with a bit of blonde streaks on it, stubble all gray as well, and he's smirking at Harry. "Huh, and what makes you think that?" Harry responds, guards coming up in quick strides.

The stranger gestures the smoking motion with his index and middle fingers stuck out, wicked smile painting his chapped lips and brown eyes taunting, smirk becoming even more prominent. And yes, Harry knows he's flirting alright.

"Oh, you know. The smoke thing you did just now? Bet even innocent kids knew it wasn't allowed inside planes."

"Oh, fuck off," Harry snarls at the man, turning his head sideways and looking out for Louis yet again. He's not yet done. Jeez, what's taking him so long?

"Lookin' at you right now, doll. I can tell perfectly."

Furrowing his brows, Harry dares another look at the man. "Tell what, huh?" He asks.

The man smiles, and this time he's shown teeth. They've got silvers and golds in them, and what the fuck. Where the fuck's Louis?

"You're a hooker, aren't you? I've seen a lotta twinks in my life, but lemme tell you right now you're the finest of 'em all, doll face."

Harry looks at the man in horror, and he swears to God he's never wanted to punch someone so bad until now. "Excuse me? You think I'm a hooker? What the fuck? Where did you get that idea, you ass?" Harry rages, getting worked up in record time.

The man in front of him lets out an amused laugh, making Harry's insides boil hotter. "Oh, come on, sexy babe," it continues to taunt, accent making it clear he's Mexican or summat. And--fuck, his breath stinks, thinks Harry in disgust. "You're young and you're hot. Rosy cheeked and wide, _wide_ mouth. How are you in a first class plane anyway, sweetie? Got bucks? Got yourself a sugar daddy, don't you?"

Mouth agape, Harry reaches out and slaps the man as hard as he can--but he fails though because of the headrest dividing them--and as a result, the man laughs harder, now grabbing Harry by his wrist. "Feisty sugar baby, I _like_ it."

"Ha-ha, very funny," Harry retorts, rolling his eyes as he snatches his hand back. "Fuck you, please." He flips the man off and looks away again, this time permanently since Louis has finally returned from their seat. "Lou!" Harry gushes as he feels relieved, making grabby hands on Louis, eliciting a startled laugh off Louis.

" _Princess_ ," Louis muses, holding Harry by the waist like it's second nature, rubbing small circles against a sliver of his exposed skin. "What is it?"

Harry buries his nose at the crook of Louis' neck, sniffing in mostly inhaling Louis' expensive scent and manly fragrance as he shut his eyes...tight. "Nothing, I... I just missed you, Lou. You were gone too long," he murmurs against his warm flesh, tears held back and heartbeats slowly calming as seconds simultaneously pass.

"Oh, is that it?" Louis asks, chest vibrating against Harry's skin as he speaks.

"Mhmm...daddy," Harry nods as he whispers, cheek brushing against Louis' black suit. He redeems himself from Louis later, smoothing his shirt and running a hand through his curls, touching his cheeks to check if a single tear escaped from his eyes. There's nothing. Good. Looking up in a while, Harry's met with Louis glaring at someone at the front, and Harry learns it's the fucking douche bag that got to him. How dare he call Harry a hooker?

"You know him, H?" Louis mutters in question, tone of voice low and terrifying, nodding at the same fuckwit as before. Harry's never heard him speak like this before. It sends chills through his skin.

Reaching over, Harry puts a hand on Louis' inner thigh and softly squeezes, making the man raise an eyebrow at them both. And it's Harry's turn to smirk at the man. "No, babe. I don't," he says with pride, taunting the man back. And, it's true though. Harry doesn't know him. And he wishes he didn't sit near them, because _what a creep_. He's ruining Harry's first ever flight!

"Oh, okay," Louis replies, passively so for that matter, watching on attentively as the man blatantly grimaces in front of them both, rendering another spurt of triumph adding in Harry's pride.

Nodding his affirmation, Harry holds on to his guitar resting at the side of the window and tells the man as he lifts it a little, "Oh, by the way, mister? You asked if I was a _musician_ , right? Well, the answer is no. I'm actually a singer, an aspiring model for French made illustrations, and at the same time a striving _bottom_ in this cruel, cruel world filled with assholes like that one man I met from before--you might know him, in fact--that had never flown in a jet plane until now and was accused of hooking up with a millionaire that made it possible for me to get my ass up here. Yep, that's me."

Speechless and frankly looking douche-er as Harry names it in his head, the man is left agape as Harry dismisses him completely, the plane's co-pilot's voice booming from the speakers making it easily happen, telling everyone to buckle up and enjoy the ride, reminding them their destination and when they will land. Harry faces Louis as he leans back, smiling at him knowingly.

Slowly now Louis eases into him and smiles back albeit cautiously, holding his hand and intertwining their fingers over the armrest dividing them, leaning back as well and carrying on with the plane ride.

~*~

Cabs align the curb and pedestrians come and go as they mind their businesses in forms of loading vans and unloading vehicles, LaGuardia Airport looking grand and big and, just as Harry trusts his judgement as much as he trusts his mom, thinks it's overall...neat. But crowded with boarding passengers and just landed ones as well, however.

Harry checks himself on the mirror one last time and admires the new sheer shirt Louis' given him just this morning. It's a color black with red roses in them, super thin dark see-through fabric at only the front exposing his nipples and torso tattoos, his butterfly, ferns and swallows, eliciting a little smile from his lips. He does a short once over on himself, patting his ass from behind through his exceptionally tight jeans, right foot on tiptoe and hip on check.

Meeting Louis halfway at the lobby later, Harry watches as the older man blatantly checks him out by looking at him from head to toe, and then reaching out to put a hand at the small of his back, both their suitcases in a trolley on the other. "Look lovely, chéri," Louis whispers. Harry giggles in turn as he takes his guitar from Louis too, and then they both go out the airport building, hailing a cab and getting cozy in.

"Where to?" Asks the driver after it shut the trunk filled with Harry and Louis' luggage.

"Union Hotel, please. Brooklyn," Louis answers.

"Alright, sir."

The driver proceeds and hits the gas, taking them away from the airlines. Harry takes that time to sit back and put his head on Louis' shoulder, letting out a sigh and closing his eyes.

"Thank you for this, Lou. I'll...never forget this. Ever."

Hums the man, he puts a hand on Harry's head, and then down to his jaw, thumbing his lower lip and pinching a little. "Mhmm. Now sleep, mon amour. Long ride. You must be exhausted."

Smiling with his eyes close, Harry nods his affirmation, and continually nestles his face against Louis' shoulder, sneaking his hand underneath Louis' own, entwining their fingers.

Moments to their travel, Harry dares to open one eye and he's met with the beautiful streetlights brightening up the lively roads of Brooklyn, New York. Despite it's probably three in the damn morning now, the place is unsurprisingly so still bustling with New York citizens going their ways, cars driving pass and shops being opened 24/7, party goers and outcasts walking freely the street sides. Harry can't help grin, heart beating wildly. He still cannot fucking believe it...

He's in New York. The city that never sleeps.

Opening the other eye as well, Harry slowly sits up, mesmerized and enticed and _amazed_ , as he daren't leave the view of the outside world from inside the cab. He can see colorful blinking lights coming from nightclubs and bars, stylish people minding their own as they stride, crossing streets and hailing bright yellow cabs. There are a couple of trees aligning curbs, bike messengers on deliveries, businessmen on duties, and up there--the moon is shining accompanied by billions and billions of stars.

Harry closes his eyes with his lips formed into a wide, self-satisfied smile. He feels like a star, a celebrity, a prisoner who's just been bailed out of bars. This is his dream town; this is where he wants to reside and have his own career built. And he is here right now, all thanks to...

Louis. His eyes snap wide open, head tilting back to stare at the man who's made this all possible for him--happening for him. "Lou..."

"How do you like it so far, sweetheart?" Louis asks softly, fonding blue eyes sparkling in the dimmed rented vehicle. Harry wants to fucking kiss him.

And so he does. Louis cups his jaw in an instant, savoring his mouth and tongue and nipping at his upper lip and snout. It's messy, but it's perfect. Harry pulls away and makes a grabby hand, hugging Louis to his chest. He can smell his angelic scent and expensive cologne as he breathes in, Louis' suit and tie brushing against his see-through blouse. "I love it, Louis. I love it so much. Thank you... thank you for bringing me here. I don't know how--how can I ever repay you. I--"

"Sshh. You don't have to, baby. You don't. Just--just spend some more time with me, hmm? That'd be enough. More than enough."

"If that's what all you want, I will. Okay," Harry murmurs, pecking Louis' neck.

And he will. Harry totally will.

~*~

They get out of the cab later as they reach what Harry knows is called Union Hotel, as Louis and the driver say it is. Its building is made of maroon-colored bricks and is a bit tall from the outside. There are shops and diners next to it, a couple of other buildings as well as apartments, and it's definitely looking rather cozy and neat.

Louis pays for the cab as they take their luggage from behind, Harry slinging his guitar on his shoulders, one hand holding Louis' own.

As they get inside the hotel, Harry waits until Louis is done talking to a person in charged by the reception desk, sending them off with a card key and a trolley for their stuff.

A man in red suit and red hat ushers them up the lifts, both he and Louis listening to him rattle off some...hotel regulations or whatever. Harry isn't really paying him no attention, given his eyes are locked with his and Louis' entwined fingers from underneath them.

Dings the elevator at the seventh floor, Harry lets Louis pull him with him and then they travel along some spacious hall. And until they get to their room and Louis has had it open with their card key, the man in red suit leaving them be, that Harry finally, finally attacks Louis with the most bruising kiss he can possibly muster with his strength, backing the smaller man against the wall, tearing their clothes off and dropping his guitar with a thud on the floor.

"Eager, are you, baby?" Harry hears Louis let out, breathless and panting in his full-on accessed mouth. Harry suppresses a laugh since he can't help it, dropping to his knees to suck his million dollar man, only to be pulled up to his feet in one swift protract. "Shower...shower, hurry," Louis tells him in a hiss.

And then they're hastily stumbling their way to where the bathroom is, stripping themselves out of their remaining clothes worn on their bodies.

Harry lets Louis fuck him in the tub for three pleasurable hours, only their moaning and groaning bringing their cravings together.

~*~

Comes daylight at noon the next few hours, Louis as it's turned out rented a car for them before they fell asleep on the couch, one of which that arrived halfway their afternoon room serviced meal, thus when they drove pass a small diner on their way to Coney Island, Louis suggested they continue their lunch from there.

The diner itself is made of a vintage Volkswagen that has a couple of red and gold tables attached at its walls, with white painted benches in them almost nearing the rusting bar slash the counter, lanterns hanging on low ceilings as well as fans alternative with vacancies.

At this time of day, there are only about four to five costumers tops, and about either two or three people managing the cashier and waiting tables and taking orders, and Louis and Harry just happened to fill those numbers too. They take a table for two nearly at the end of the dingy diner, Louis excusing himself for a wee, instructing Harry to order them some food.

Seeing Louis descend to the men's bathroom, Harry looks down at the menu with a giddy smile as he happily obliges to rack it with their orders, scanning each category with his index finger.

"Hmm," he hums lively, reading _Soup, Salad, Frittata, Trout, Sausage Stew, Biscuit and Gravy, Egg Sandwich, Fried Fish Sandwich, Burger, Flourless Chocolate Cake_ on the 'Breakfast  & Lunch' little corner, still deciding on whether what Louis might or might not want to have.

Minutes to his opting, someone working on the said diner comes up to their table and protrudes a shadow, leaving Harry no choice but to look up.

And, "Harry?" The man says in shock. Or rather amusement. "Is that really you?"

Eyes widening and ears ringing loudly with endless buzz, Harry stays frozen on his spot as he locks eyes with the one and only Calvin Rodgers, his first ever boyfriend back in middle school, the reason he knew he liked boys in the first place, his first kiss, first fuck, and first everything, that one boy who had his heart broken for the first time, and that one boy who caught him hooking up with older men on a bar for the very first time as well...when he'd been desperate, when he'd dropped out of school.

His first love. His first boy.

Why now?

"Cal...vin."

Harry can barely speak, can barely breathe. He can't even believe his eyes, what he's seeing. What is happening to him? His heart seems to be stuck on his throat. Fuck.

"It's really you, Har," Calvin says now in awe, the corner of his lips slowly turning upward as he hugs the clipboard he's holding to his chest, making Harry's cheeks burn by the second. _He still calls him Har. What the fuck?_

"I..."

"Baby?"

Harry whips around, quick, and--there. There stands Louis by the bar, stance looking tense yet a bit loose since he's a naturally laid back man, taking smooth strides towards where Harry is. As well as...Calvin. His ex.

His fucking ex. Fuck.

Louis.

"Lou--I--baby," Harry stammers out, clutching on the menu for dear life. He can feel his head numbing and palms forming sweats, the pads of his thumb paling as he presses it on the lamination of the thing he's holding.

Just as Louis' reached their table, Harry watches as he shifts his gaze from him and then to Calvin--back to him again, and to Calvin--and until he stops to lock gazes with Harry, one eyebrow raised in question.

"You know this guy, sweetie?" Louis asks eventually, voice alarmingly calm and even, sending chills to Harry's skin.

It was the same question he asked Harry back on that plane. And it's been so easy to answer, been so simple, and there had been no need to fish mouth.

But this one though...is a whole lot different. This is Harry's ex. This boy is his first love.

And also, this boy broke his young and innocent, fragile heart.

Then again, Harry doesn't plan to lie to Louis. So he won't.

Breaking into a small smile, Harry stresses a short nod and a hand motion towards Calvin. "Yes, babe. I do."

Mouth forming a tiny o, Louis blinks and averts his gaze from Harry to Calvin, and then back again.

In the end, "Oh," Louis says.

And, _yeah_ , thinks Harry, _oh indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heeey sorry for the cliffhanger!!!!
> 
> but oh, if i receive lengthy feedback i might just post the next chapter earlier than expected! ;)


	6. Your Little Harlot, Starlet, Queen of Coney Island ♡♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gosh. sorry for the LONG wait :( i love u

♡♡♡♡

He takes out a small bag of cocaine from his breast pocket and opens the plastic, letting it spread across his outstretched palm, small flecks of it dropping onto the untidy tiles of the diner's toilets, some sticking to his black suit.

Louis picks up a bit of the narcotic drug with his pinky fingernail and sniffs it in through his nostril, inhaling as he closes his eyes in bliss, the eyeballs rolling at the back of his head, letting the high take over.

As he finishes using, Louis drops the remnants on the toilet bowl, flushes it and then takes the time to make sure nothing remains on plain sight, and then he steps out of the bathroom at once. Wiping his hands using a couple of tissue papers, Louis' eyes travel across the diner and he doesn't even spare a thought to throwing the plastic ziploc away once his gaze drops on the scene taking place where their table is. He can feel his stomach contracting with unpleasant surges at the sight of Harry engaged in a conversation with another man.

The guy, who Harry is faced with, is someone who's definitely not taller than Louis himself. Maybe by a centimeter, but who the fuck cares? Louis is furious. Why is he there? And--and why the fuck is Harry agape talking to that guy? Is he baffled? What is going on in there?

Straightening up, Louis keeps his composure and doesn't dare let up. He positions himself forward, and that's the only time then that Harry's finally looked over where he is.

Harry looks to him like a kitten caught in headlights. _Okay_ , so, really, something is not adding up.

"Baby?" Louis has to speak up; he has to act cool, like he owns Harry and let the stranger know that they can't change that.

Walking towards Harry and the other guy, Louis hears Harry mumble out, stammering it even, "Lou--I--baby--," making him mentally cringe at the sound, because _what the actual heck?_

Louis inspects and watches on as he ascends, witnessing lowkey as Harry clutches on the menu he's been holding on for dear life. Which--that is fucking odd.

Having reached the table, completely so for that matter that he can practically smell the stranger's perfume now, as well as justify his speculation about himself being _not_ smaller than this guy at all, Louis then averts his visions from the stranger to Harry, back to the stranger, and then lastly locks gazes with his Del Rey himself who's sat down.

And then, "You know this guy, sweetie?" He once and for all manages to ask, making sure he's sounding calm and collected, and not at all ragingly pissed.

Looking at Harry like this--tensed, obviously caught off-guard about something and blanking at the question presented to be supplied with an answer--makes Louis feel anger surge through his veins some more. Because isn't this the same question he's asked him back on the plane? And Louis has been so relieved back there; when he heard the answer he's been wanting to hear.

Well, now that he's thinking about it, Louis doesn't know anymore if he's gonna like what he will hear...now.

Seeing Harry slowly but surely breaking into a small smile makes Louis' insides contract painfully, meanwhile. And he doesn't know why; it's unfathomable. However though, Harry nods a little after a brief moment, and then he does a hand gesture towards the guy who's just approached him, finally addressing the puzzling of one Louis Tomlinson.

"Yes, babe. I do," says Harry, voice making it clear for Louis that he's tense and that something's absolutely not right. Also, the guy looks as though he's missing something here just like Louis is, or that he's connecting the puzzles piece by piece.

Mouth puckering, Louis blinks at them and shifts his gaze from Harry to the blonde, tanned guy, and then back to Harry again... Harry who is fidgeting. Hmm.

Opting on ending the pain of his Del Rey, Louis lets out a quiet and calm, "Oh," in his wake, going towards the stranger and then--he chooses to offer a hand, ever the civil he is. "Bonjour, you are a friend of Harry's, non?"

Stepping forward, the guy takes Louis' hand and shakes it. "Hey, man. I'm Calvin. Calvin Rodgers, Harry's..." He trails off, looking at Harry who's got his head hanging low. Louis feels an instant pang in his guts, his high from sniffing cocaine subsiding just like that.

"Harry's what?"

"Harry's childhood--"

"He's my ex, Louis," Harry pipes up, looking at him with, what is that? Guilt in his beautiful green eyes? _But why?_ Does he really think Daddy would punish him for this? Louis' confessed he himself had a fucking husband, heck even an adopted daughter for that matter, and nothing's changed, right?

Well, unless this Calvin had some deep relations with him from the past, then...that would be a bit of a big deal, wouldn't it?

"Oh, I see then," says Louis after a beat of silence. And then he's letting go of Calvin's hand and taking a seat beside Harry. "Nice to meet you, Harry's former lover. I'm Louis by the way. Monsieur Louis Tomlinson, Harry's... friend. And business partner."

Louis watches closely as Calvin nods his head slowly, deliberately, and then clears his throat before asking for their orders, to which Harry supplies him with in no time. Calvin leaves for the counter and Louis takes that as his cue to look back at Harry, whose head is still lowered down, eyes locked on his own lap, lips turned down into a small frown. Louis slides a hand toward Harry and places it on his thigh, squeezing softly.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it's cool. In fact, I wanna thank you for being so honest with me. That's how things should go for us, shouldn't it? I tell you my past, you tell me yours, and voilà. No secrets between us."

Nodding in agreement, Harry holds Louis' hand on his thigh and squeezes back. "Yep," he murmurs lowly, sounding equally sincere, "I second that, babe." And then he looks up finally, hope in his green Bambi eyes glistening brightly. "Thank you, Lou. I just... I just thought you wouldn't understand. And I'm so fucking sorry I even thought of that." Louis witnesses as Harry swallows, hard, and then the kid is proceeding yet again and talking with fear in his eyes, "I kind of... Louis, I... I had too much to give from way back, you see. Let's just say that... that I've never been the best person from the past. I'd been fucked by so many guys that I could stumble across their paths any moment, because that's just how many they are. I'm like... I don't know. Maybe I was a slut. A whore. I hate it, the old me."

Lips parting slowly, Louis narrows his eyes. "So... that guy on that plane..." He starts to say, but Harry beats him to it anyway before he can go on.

"Oh, no! No, that guy was a motherfucker. He's a jerk, and I don't really know him. He said I look like a hooker, so he taunted me." Shrugging, Harry smiles at Louis. "Nothing I can't handle, really. He could say whatever he wants, I won't give. Besides, I do look like a stripper, eh?" He wiggles his brows, making Louis laugh softly.

"Perhaps, you fine piece of babydoll. But you are _my_ stripper though, aren't you?" Louis coos, tightening his grip on Harry's meaty thigh.

"I am, daddy. One million percent yours," whispers Harry in response, leaning in and capturing Louis' mouth.

Pulling shortly, Louis murmurs in his mouth. "What about this Calvin, though?"

"Calvin, he..." Harry pants, "He's my first boyfriend. Did every first with him... D-doesn't mean I still love him though. Because I don't. Just that..."

"Just that...what, baby?"

"Just that he was also the first to break my heart. Caught him hooking up with some girl in the football team's locker room. Isn't a big deal anymore, really. I've avenged myself already... He saw me making out with a man twice his age; then again though that was his entire fault. He made me into what I am now, a boy hater. Ever since then, I only ever hooked up with older men."

Louis hums in understanding, mouth twitching a little knowing Harry's just the same as him--they've both been cheated on with a girl. "I see. Good for him then, I guess." And then he leans in again and kisses Harry, not caring for one second about their surroundings.

They make out for a little bit after that, tasting each other's tongues and lips and snouts, sweet and passionate as they do so. A clearing of someone's throat interrupts them anyhow. And it's Calvin. _Of fucking course it is Calvin._

Louis cuts their ties and reaches with his thumb, wiping it across Harry's bottom lip and smiling in satisfaction. He looks up at Calvin--Calvin who's quite obviously masking a look of despair and distraught. Well, Louis can't blame him. If Louis were to let a freakishly sexy as fuck bird like Harry, he too would be regretting it furiously. Like what he can see on Calvin now, having seen his gorgeous ex after so many years and is now locking lips with some million dollar man. Like Louis. _Ha._ Louis' never been humble about such, because he himself knows. He's rich and he's powerful, more handsome than this Calvin boy. Harry's all his, and no former lover can ever take that away.

"Here's your...orders, sir," Calvin mumbles, placing a tray in front of them.

Nodding, Louis motions for Calvin to join them. And bless the boy, he obliges willingly without second thoughts. He clearly doesn't know what he's getting himself into, huh. Although Louis himself doesn't know about that either.

"Thanks, Cal," Harry says after a while, finally munching on a sandwich. "I'm so hungry I could eat a truck!"

For the first time since they've sat altogether, Calvin lets his laughter be heard over the table, making Louis raise an eyebrow as he eats his own meal. "Some things really don't change, do they, Har? You're still the same old food lover I've met seven years ago."

And...what...the...actual...fuck? Seven years ago?

Seven? _Harry was barely a teenager seven years ago!_

Whoa. Okay. This lad could actually pose as a competitor. Perhaps.

"Yeah, I know," Harry says with a lighthearted giggle around his mouthful of burger. "Gotta love your food, you know? It makes you strong. And healthy. And _preeeee_ -tty," He drawls cheekily. "I mean. Look at me." He flutters his eyelashes at that, and Louis has no other choice but to put a hand under the table again to squeeze Harry's waist from behind, as though he is claiming him as his and not anyone else's.

Which is something he probably needs to exude to Calvin.

Well, looking at Calvin now, Louis can tell he's gotten the message just fine, if his jealous frown is any given indication. _Psh. Good riddance_ , Louis thinks with a smirk taking place over his lips.

"Of course you are pretty, baby," Louis whispers huskily in Harry's ear, and then he presses a kiss to his temple right after. Giggling, Harry nods his head happily as he agrees--looking so oblivious with whatever game Louis is currently playing with Calvin; the game of who owns who--ever the innocent nympho this curly boy is.

"So, anyway," Calvin says, leaning forward the table, apron touching the platform. "You said Harry is your...business partner? How so?" He looks at Harry, smiling fondly. Louis wants to roll his eyes so badly. "Aren't you in love with performing and singing, Har? What business is this you're partaking in?"

Putting down his sandwich, Harry wipes at his mouth with the tissue, and then he drinks some coca-cola, before answering Calvin with a grin. "I model for him."

"Model?" Calvin quips loudly, eyebrows raised so high Louis' afraid they might reach his hairline. "As in... he takes photos of you?"

Shaking his head, Harry answers him, enthusiastic as ever. "Nope! He _paints_ me, Cal. Louis here is a painter. And a brilliant one too." At that, Louis can't help but smile proudly, especially now Calvin's giving him a look--one filled with jealousy and sharp, angry edges. Ha!

"Really..." Calvin murmurs, sounding unsure, like he doesn't believe Harry at all. Like whatever Harry's saying is just not gonna happen to someone like Harry. Which, that's fucked up, isn't it?

So Louis jumps in, pulling Harry closer against his side. " _Really_ , Cavin, Harry's telling the truth," he tells him with a calm and even smile. "I am a painter from France, hence the name and the accent. _Je suis français, gamin, et je suis plutôt doué pour baiser quelqu'un par derrière pour être honnête, tu peux demander à Harry._ (I'm French, little boy, and I'm pretty good with fucking someone from behind, you may ask Harry about it to be honest.)" Louis grins, knowing he's just won this game--whatever this is, seeing that confused look on Calvin's face. He's not done yet though. "Anyway, I've met Harry darling months ago; turned out his sister and I are neighbors back in Beverly Hills, 's where I naturally reside. And I saw all the potential in him the moment I laid eyes on his face--he's beautiful, just like what I've said, and when we had sex for the first time, I chanced on painting him while he was dozing off. Naked." Louis winked at Calvin as he said that last part, rendering a visibly uncomfortable snide from the lad.

"The portrait went well, I suppose. Well, _amazing_ actually. I left the state for Paris as I finished, did some business there for a month... When I got back, I've received some approvals from my team regarding my painting of Harry's bare body. And they suggested that I should hire Harry as my model for every painting. You see, I've been asked to sign a contract to which I would be filling an entire art gallery of my masterpieces... And the plan is," Louis pecks Harry on the cheek, enjoying the way Calvin is swallowing every saliva in that mouth of his, "the plan, my friend, is to fill it with _every_ version of this fine arsed doll face, and then sell it to the world, make him a star, one reason to put his name out there and the like. And then... when he's known enough, he could build his singing career from that point on. 'S good, oui?"

Nodding vigorously next to him, getting giddy as he rehears the 'plan' for the umpteenth time now, Harry beams excitedly as he pounds lightly on their table. "Win-win, Cal! Win-win!" He chirps out.

Not letting up, Louis watches as the scene breaks loose right in front of his face. First, Calvin reaches out; next, he takes Harry's hand and holds it firmly; last is that he looks Harry dead straight into his eyes. " _Har_ ," he says, sounding desperate. Louis blows a sigh at that, making a bit of his fringe fly off his forehead. He's losing his patience with this kid. "Don't you think you should just... I don't know, like, get back to singing and make yourself known in the way you yourself know how? I can help you! I'll--I'll give out some flyers, make some rounds on Facebook and put your name out there! Just--stop it with this nonsense modeling, Har. Not...not this way. But other ways! Like, not you making others like this French old man here, using you for your beauty as well as your body with his obvious hidden agendas." Calvin snarls at Louis, making a disgruntled facial expression. "It's true though, isn't it? You're just using Harry for your own money hungry sexual desires." Leaning a bit more, Calvin tightens his grip on Harry, eliciting a pang of rage within Louis. "Harry, he's--look, I've known Harry since we were kids, okay? And I know how he can be _slow_ and--and innocent, that people like _you_ would make him obey whatever you told him. You will take him out on dates, fuck him, and then he's all yours! That's what you did to him, right? Right? You're--you're _using_ him, admit it!"

The silence that follows Calvin's little bitchy whining, puts a gauge onto Louis' direction. And suddenly, Louis is barking out a sardonic laughter. Harry takes his hands off Calvin's owns and massages them, since he's obviously hurt.

"Look, boy," Louis says finally, letting out a sigh. "Surely, you don't know what you're getting yourself into, but...I'll tell you now, in just a snap of my finger as you should know, my bodyguards outside this hell hole can knock you out in no time. Why use harm? Because despite all the uncalled for accusations you've thrown at me right now that I couldn't really care any less about, the _only_ thing that really, honestly, fucking riled me up, you fucking piece of shite, is the part where you called Harry stupid." Leaning in, Louis looks Calvin straightly in the eye. "Since he's not. He's my fucking _baby_ , asshole."

Calvin backs off inch by inch after that, looking back at Harry and then to Louis. "What is this shit," he spits, "what the fuck is wrong with you? Harry, why are you hanging out with some psycho?"

Looking rather fed up, Harry stands up and glowers at Calvin. "Excuse you! Between you and Louis, you ask? I think it's clear as day who the real psycho is, Calvin. You _cheated_ on me back in the days, you broke my fucking heart. However, Louis here takes me out on grand dates and buys me vintage flowers, making me feel special every day since. Now, tell me, who deserves my time?"

Standing up as well, Calvin glowers right back, cheeks entirely beet red. "Oh, _really_ , Styles? But he does bend you over and fucks you too, doesn't he? Just like all those other old farts who had a piece of your warm hole. You disgusting little nymphomaniac skank."

Harry gasps out loud, mouth forming a big _O_ , clearly shocked and outright insulted. "How _dare_ you--," he's just about slapping Calvin's face, but Louis is quick to snatch his hand and pull him along with him anyway. Louis drags him to the toilets, knocking on the door to kick the person using out, looking back as well to make sure Calvin is tracking their movements from behind, wanting the boy to follow suit.

Well, he does, just as soon as the other person from the inside has opened the bathroom door while complaining that is, "What the actual shitty fuck, mate? I'm still using the toilet! Can't wait for your turn, can you? You fucking--"

"Here you go, just to shut your stinky big mouth," Louis dismisses in a haste, getting irritated, throwing a couple of dollars on the complainant's chest. "Now get the fuck off our way, or I'll take my cash back." It grins at them as it leaves with his money, making Louis roll his eyes. _Petty._

As him and Harry step inside the bathroom, Louis slams it shut before Calvin can get to them, locking it securely.

"Hey!" Comes Calvin's cry for access.

"What," Harry lets out, just as Louis' dropped down to his knees, pulling at Harry's jeans and wrapping a hand on his cock. "Lou...what are you..."

"Hush, baby. We'll show your ex just how good sex is for the both of us, alright?"

"But, Lou--you--you've never sucked me off before..." Harry murmurs, gripping the sink behind him. Louis can tell his cheeks are flushing, and that just motivates Louis to do this even more so.

"I know, baby, sshh. Today is different though, isn't it? We're dealing with an asshole."

"Hey! What do you think you're doing in there? Get the fuck outta here!" Calvin calls from the outside yet again, proving Louis' point even more.

"See?"

Harry nods, biting his lip.

And so Louis starts working with sucking Harry off then, pumping on his dick fast, making him stiffen quickly in the palm of his hand. Louis looks up, taking Harry in his mouth, tasting the base and the head. "Look at me, baby," he says, voice muffled from Harry's thick cock. Harry looks down at him, droplets of sweat forming on his forehead, cheeks and throat flushed red. He looks absolutely debauched already. "I don't want you holding back, oui? I want you to moan for me, baby. Let your ass of an ex hear how much you're loving it."

Harry nods at that, breathless already. Louis winks at him, and then he proceeds.

Harry's moans, as they always have been, are the most melodic sounds Louis' ever heard. They make him high without much use of cocaine, they make him hard at the length too, and he wants to hear them get even louder. Louder for Calvin to _long_ for; higher for Calvin to _know_ what he's missing out. What he's lost. And thus, Louis takes Harry deeper, letting the head of Harry's cock reach the back of his throat. Well. This is the first. He never even let Phil fuck his throat.

" _Ahhh_ ," Harry moans out, "oooh, Louis... fuck... I'm--I'm gonna... oohh... ngh..." He chants, pulling at Louis' hair lightly. Even like this, Harry's still as gentle to him as ever, and that makes a burst of fondness reverberate throughout his body for this wonderful sub of a boy.

"H-Harry? What the fuck is he doing to you in there?" Calvin once again calls, banging on the door.

"Come on, Harry," Louis pants out as he pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand and pumping on Harry's dick quickly and expertly. "Come for daddy, baby. Come on."

A few more movements of his hand and Harry's finally coming on Louis' face, a few stray strands landing across his mouth. And that was...good. Fucking perfection.

"That was...fuck..." Harry mumbles, going pliant against the sink.

Louis stands up as he helps Harry zip up his jeans. "You did wonderfully, chéri."

Harry chuckles. "I'm...I'm glad."

"Uh-huh. Me too, believe me. But we're not yet done," Louis tells him.

"We're not?" Harry looks up at him.

"No, mon amour. Your turn. I want to come on your face."

"Oh. Uh, okay." Harry grins dazedly.

Dropping to his knees this time, Harry takes out Louis' cock and shoves it into his mouth--no fussing, no finesse at all, dignity be damned, really--and Louis, on the other hand, doesn't waste any more time as he himself holds on to Harry's head. Tightly tangling his fingers in the long strands of Harry's curls. And then he begins to fuck Harry's mouth roughly, thrusting forward and letting Harry have all of it. All of him.

"If you don't come out that fucking bathroom," Calvin is saying from the other side of the door just as they go on, "then you've left me no other choice but to break this goddamn doorknob." And then there's shoe soles tapping against marbled floor, the noise descending from the men's bathrooms. Well, Louis only wishes him good luck with whatever he is planning, because quite frankly? He should've done that a while ago. Perhaps he liked listening in on Louis sucking Harry off, and Harry moaning out his name. Creep.

Minutes to their changes in position, another sounds and small creaky movements erupt from the other side of the door. And Louis knows--that's Calvin trying to unlock the door, and Louis can't have that, no. Pulling at Harry's hair, Harry shifts his gaze and looks up at Louis, Louis' cock still balls deep in Harry's mouth. "Gotta go fast, baby doll," Louis says, fonding in spite of himself.

And Harry nods at that, widening his mouth open. For Louis. Giving Louis the cue to fuck into Harry's mouth, which he does, with Harry just taking and taking, and taking, eager to please his daddy as always, practically choking on Louis' thick cock, tongue swirling clumsily at the base where it laps.

It's filthy, it's messy, and there's saliva everywhere as well as sticky, slimy come. And by the looks of it, Harry's truly enjoying himself too much--and that's all that matters anyway. Closing his eyes, Louis thinks back on Harry singing in that club, Velvety Roses, belting problematic albeit romantic, nymphet lyrics with cigarette smoke surrounding his beautiful self...and then he comes. Harry pulls off with a huff, coughing a little with it. Louis shoots his load on Harry's face, some going for his cheeks, some on his chin, and the rest straight on his agape mouth. Louis sighs in content at that, and then he helps Harry up, hugging him close to his body.

"You did great, baby. You're perfect," he pants in Harry's mouth, kissing him deeply, and then briefly letting go. Harry smiles hazily at him, leaning on his side, face flushed pink and eyelids heavy, murmuring words Louis can't quite make out. And then the jiggling of the doorknob breaks their small alcove of aftercare, making Louis look up.

By the time Calvin's finally unlocked the door from the outside, thankfully, Louis' already done zipping up his trousers and so is Harry, but. Louis refrains himself from chuckling as he looks up, seeing that look of mixed disgust and affront plastered across Calvin's face, looking directly at Harry, who is smiling contentedly and dazedly while still sporting Louis' come all over his face.

Louis pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and hands it over to Harry. "Wipe your face, chéri. You've got..." He motions to his face, biting his lip to keep from grinning, "Y'got something in there."

Blinking rapidly, as though Harry has finally gotten back to reality as he takes Louis' offered piece of fabric, he looks up to meet Calvin's raging blue eyes, hastily wiping his face off Louis' come. "Fuck," Harry swears, to which Louis quietly chuckles at.

"Come on, let's leave this place."

Stepping out the bathroom, Louis pulls Harry in his arm to help him balance to his feet. And then as they pass Calvin open-mouthed Rodgers, Louis whispers in his ear, teasingly so for that matter, "I'll pay for the damages, _Cal_ , don't worry. Don't want your boss going off on you, after all."

And then they leave him, all baffled and standing speechless, going straight to the counter to pay for everything. Louis offers his credit card firsthand, but the cashier says they don't accept such. So Louis pays them some cash, and then writes them a cheque. "That's a lot of money, Lou... Don't you think you're overdoing it?" Louis hears Harry mumbling next to him while he's moments into this business dealing, and Louis jerks, he didn't know the kitten's been looking over his shoulder the entire time.

Humming in recognition to his words, Louis proceeds signing his name on the cheque. He wrote them a solid $10,000, because you know, Louis is the kind to prove himself as the non-cheap type, so. "I know, baby." Louis leans over the counter, addressing the lady in charge as he slides the cheque towards her. "Listen, hun. My boyfriend and I kind of did something to your, uh, bathroom? Erm, we broke the doorknob, so this is me paying for the damages."

Watching the lady's eyes widen, Louis can't help smirk to himself, adjusting Harry's pliant body in his arms. "Oh! No worries, sir!" The lady gushes, quickly putting the cheque away and into a safe storage.

Louis nods at her, feeling good as he puts his cheque book back in his inner suit pocket.

"But Alice!" And in comes Calvin's voice. The Git. "Are you really just gonna let them get away with their--with their _disgusting_ activities in our bathrooms? It smells like jizz in there!"

"Oh, hush now, Calvin. It's _over._ Done. Nada!"

"But!"

"Nah-uh! _Shut_ your mouth."

Louis can still hear him blabbering his complaints to the lady as he and Harry leave the place with a flourish, earning themselves some looks from every stranger and costumer on their way out, given the fact Calvin's just outed what they did inside that bathroom. Oh well, sex sells, and Louis doesn't give a fuck. He presses a kiss on Harry's temple as they step out of the diner, the humid Brooklyn air hitting their faces at once. Louis inhales freely, a proud smile overtaking his face.

And, before the door can even shut completely behind them, Louis swears he hears the cashier lady yelled something along the lines, _that man gave us a huge tip, Calvin! A huge fucking tip. He could fuck whoever he wants in our toilets!_

Well, Louis has the decency to laugh inwardly hearing that. Sue him.

~*~

"Louis William Tomlinson," Harry says as soon as they get in the car, grabbing on his suit's collar and pulling. Louis blinks in shock at him, beckoning for the driver to just drive and mind his own business.

"You...are...a... _menace_ ," Harry tacks on, eyebrows furrowed and still pink-cheeked, both from orgasming just now and by being enraged, probably.

Louis puts his hands on Harry's lithe waist, tentatively. But then Harry just slaps his hands away, and that is Louis' cue to frown. He sits back properly and crosses his leg over the other. He ignores Harry. "To Coney Island please," he instructs the driver instead.

"Yes, sir."

Louis hears Harry grumble next to him, sitting back as well, but with force and petulance. "That's right!" He says loudly. "Ignore me! Sure. Who am I to have a say in all these anyway, right? I'm just your 'baby doll'!" Harry bites out as he does the air-quotes, making Louis mentally cringe.

"Harry, what's wrong--"

" _What's wrong?_ " Harry bellows, eyes darker and cheeks redder. He really is mad then-- _enraged_. "You were such a dick back there! You dragged me into that--into that fucking--"

"Yeah, I was! I _know_ , Harry! But your fucking ex boyfriend was being a fucking dick, too! Let me remind you that he called you a dumb thing and a nymphomaniac whore, in case you forgot!" Louis yells now too, sitting up and facing Harry.

"But you shouldn't have paid that jerk any attention! _At all!_ He didn't deserve the lovely you! You just gave him the satisfaction!" Harry pulls at his hair, his headscarf loosening its grip. Louis wants to reach out and fix it so badly, but he knows better.

Instead Louis groans, frustrated. And then he puts a hand on his head, rubbing his temples. "Baby," he moans, "please... I just did that to defend you, alright? Us! He also called me a scam, remember? He said I was just using you for money, when in reality I'm _not_. Not at all..."

Planting his face in his hands, Harry murmurs quietly, voice muffled against his palms. "But was that really all, Lou?"

"What do you mean, baby?" Louis asks, perking up, voice completely hushed now and soft. He reaches out to peel Harry's hands off his face. He wants to see that pretty face. Those Bambi eyes, and those red plump lips.

Harry sniffs quietly, tears forming at the brim of his eyes. "Weren't you jealous? Even just a bit?"

And, fuck. Was Louis jealous? Of course. Seven years ago, Calvin owned Harry's heart. Not Louis. Calvin did. Fuck that guy.

"Very, Harry. _Very_ jealous."

"But why?" Harry croaks out, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.

Louis smiles as he wipes at Harry's face with his thumbs. "Because you're mine, silly," he tells him simply. And then he looks out the window, motioning for Harry to look out as well.

Because they're finally here. They're at Coney Island.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh? im just havin fun w this fic. hope u r 2 :3


	7. He Lives For Love, He Loves His Drugs ♡♡

♡♡♡♡

Outside the car, people are scattered about, the afternoon sun shining above them. There are little children running with their tiny laughing friends, mothers calling out on them and reprimanding they slow it down. There are dogs with their leashes, pet owners walking with them as they pull, teal cotton candies in hand. Fathers and kids play piggybacks, wives laughing loudly, buying colorful balloons and soft, delicious-looking ice cream in sugar cones, telling them stories about Captain Hook and Peter Pan and Tinker Bell, promising their babies a travel on Neverland one of these days. And then there are the rides peeking high from afar as their car goes further, from the inside of Luna Park producing fun melodies, smiling people seated on boxes attached to Wonder Wheel circling slowly around.

And yes--yes, they've finally reached Coney Island. And the look on Harry's face sends chills to Louis' skin, hair standing on its end. Green eyes lighting up like Christmas, dimples popping out, tears rolling down flushed cheeks. They give Louis wild butterflies.

"We're here, doll...your dreamland," Louis whispers, mostly to himself, eyes glued to the young perfection next to him, instead of the actual Boardwalk in front of them. He can't help it, Harry's having a cute little meltdown. Louis wouldn't miss that for the world.

"I--know, Lou. I can--I can see that." Harry's choking on each word as he speaks, tears streaming down his face. And Louis can only watch on silently as Harry wipes furiously on his eyelids, rubbing and rubbing and rubbing like a child. He keeps on gazing outside in amusement, eyes flicking from left to right, palms flattened on the window glass, still crying.

Louis looks at Preston (their driver) at the front seat, shrugging with a smile as they both witness Harry sentimentally live his dream in a quiet assessment, not bothering to cut the moment for the boy.

They watch on as Harry points against the glass, grinning widely and then wiping furiously on his eyes. His eyes that just never quit on tearing up. Louis itches to reach out, hug Harry and whisper lovely reassurance in his ears, tell him he'll buy Coney Island for him if needed be. It's just really a heart aching yet beautiful moment for everyone right now, and Louis thinks he'll keep it forever.

~*~

"No, I don't wanna go out!" Harry cries like a child just as Louis starts on pulling at his arm, getting away from him. He keeps on slipping out of Louis' grip, scowling, and Louis has the decency to hold himself together and not burst out and laugh right there and then, just because Harry's being like, "I look like shit! Look at my face! Don't think you will _ever_ make me step out of this car, Lewis!"

"But, honey," Louis tries for conceding, posh voice extra soft, "you want to see Coney Island, right? Wanna be the Coney Island princess--"

"Queen!"

"Alright, _queen_ then." Louis nods, and then bites his tongue in order not to laugh. "I get it, babe. How will you become the queen of this wonderland here though if you're--"

"Don't I know it," Harry groans out, frustrated. "But I just--," he scrambles on his knees, clutching on Louis' suit and pulling desperately, "--don't you get it, Louis? I wanna walk that beautiful, brilliant place looking my best! Not like this--my eyes are freaking _red_. I look so ugly--"

"Don't...even go there," Louis cuts him off. "Just don't." Getting out the car, Louis leans in and cups Harry's face, pecking his forehead. "I'll be right back," He tells him. Louis walks inside Coney Island and then through Luna Park, looking for the shops. When he spots a certain one selling sunglasses, he takes two and buys them. Moments later he comes back to their car and knocks on Harry's window. It's clear he's startled Harry because his first instinct is immediately cover his face, but then when Louis waves the heart-shaped sunglasses on his face, Harry lights up and grabs it.

Louis smiles as Harry wears it atop his nose, biting on his lower lip and dimpling. Louis does the same, wearing his own to match with Harry, and that just worsens the deepness of Harry's dimples, because, "We look so cool," according to him.

Louis trusts his judgement.

~*~

 **_Bonjour meilleur père de l'univers._ ** **(Hey there best dad in the universe.)**

 **_Freya, qu'est-ce-que tu veux ? En utilisant ce ton avec moi? Ne t'ai-je pas déjà dit que si tu voulais de l'argent tu pouvais juste tirer de la carte que je t'ai donnée?_ ** **(Freya, what is it that you want? Using that tone on me? Haven't I told you already that whenever you needed money, just withdraw using the card I lent you?)**

Louis locks his phone after he's sent that with a grunt, looking up just in time to see Harry grinning broadly at him sitting on his pony on the carousel, wrist wrapped up in a _ride-all-you-can_ ticket, hair tied up in a bun. He's wearing that green heart-shaped sunglasses Louis bought for the two of them so they match (as well as for Harry to be able to step out the car because apparently he looks ugly, which, to Louis he never does), and he's had a change of clothes for this trip before discarding from his cave, yellow sheer shirt with reds and blues flower prints in them. And--fuck.

Thing is, Harry looks absolutely joyous right now, living his damn childhood dream, and Louis just hasn't the strength to be pissed even when Freya's contacted him with that infectious tone she normally uses on him. Louis memorizes his own daughter like the back of his hand to be quite pissy at this time of the year, knowing she's probably just ran out of money to spend--Louis' money, to be precise--and that's why she's texting him out of nowhere. Freya just doesn't try to reach Louis, at all. She does what she wants, she rebels from him, and if any, she would go back to Paris and be with his other dad, Phil. Not with Louis--not text Louis and be all daughterly. So whatever it is now, Louis is certain it's just about money. Or maybe she's bored. Or--God, Louis hopes she didn't get herself in trouble again, otherwise she'll ruin Louis' remaining day offs! Last time she's gotten herself in trouble, Louis had fly from Germany to _goddamn_ Sweden in the middle of a business investment just to bail her out on jail!

Sighing at the thought, Louis brushes it off immediately by getting in the carousel ride as well to join Harry. He sits on one beside the joyous, happy kid, forcing a smile his way, clinging on the pole connecting to the pony and the ceiling.

The ride goes on for a good 10 minutes, timed. And throughout it Louis and Harry kept on leaning towards each just to steal sloppy kisses and then later laugh about it, especially when they caught kids making faces at them. None of them gave much shits anyway.

"That was fun!" Harry beams as they get off the first ride they take, jumping on Louis and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Thank you so much for bringing me, Lou! I love it here, I love it here!" He gushes out, excitement radiating through him. And then there goes those dimples again, popping up. Louis swears Harry's going to be the death of him--soon. If not now, not tomorrow, then perhaps someday, doesn't matter.

Rooting for yet another ride to try out, Louis and Harry hold hands as they fight their way through heaps of running and jumping children with their mothers and fathers leading them, balloons and stuffed animals in hand, pointing at many, many things and rides and toys in plain sight. Louis can't help smile at this, looking back at Harry who's doing just about the same as all these little children, justifying just how he's such a man child himself. It endears Louis to no end really, having met such a youthful boy like Harry freaking Styles, that one person who also sucks his dick and gags on it, mind, the one who also has the tendency on making him come thrice in just one round. Harry can be best of both worlds, and he doesn't even realize it. Louis...loves him very much.

Maybe. Probably.

Well, he cares about him, so...

He wants happiness for Harry.

So maybe that's that, Louis doesn't want to think about it just yet. Last time he gave his heart, Phil returned it smashed to pieces. And that had been the last of it--his stupidity. He begs putting an end to it Not anymore would he let another person break his healed heart, no.

Louis shakes his head, letting go of the thought. This isn't the time for thinking about such stuff after all. In turn, Louis just looks up ahead to see where Harry's stopped now, when he ran ahead of him that is. And it's turned out to be a cotton candy stand. Louis giggles internally.

"You can't be serious, doll," he mutters under his breath, butterflies fluttering wildly in his belly. It's just that...

The look on Harry's face as he thinks through whether the pink cotton candy would taste better than the lilac is just really painstakingly out of the ordinary it brings somersaults to Louis' being. It's downright ludicrous if you ask him.

~*~

So Louis has bought Harry two then; both pink and lilac cotton candies, tipping the lady vendor to make her day. And now Harry's happily munching on them fluffy edibles as he clutches both in each hand, walking ahead of Louis yet again as they look for the Cyclone ride Harry speaks of.

Basing from the name of it, Louis' certain he wouldn't like the ride. It sounds kind of barbaric in his ear, something that goes in fast circles over and over, passing on loops and will make one vomit afterwards. Well, Louis hopes he's wrong.

But then in comes Harry's delighted squeal though. "There it is!" He points enthusiastically.

And--yeah, no. Louis isn't riding that thing, there's just no way. It's a damn roller coaster for fuck's sake.

Nope. _Nope_. Louis is definitely too old for this shit. _Too old._

So in the end, Harry rides on his own, and Louis fucking regrets it later as he chooses to stay behind, because from where he stands on the ground, he can still see Harry having fun with another boy seated next to him, the both of them laughing and screaming. _Having the time of their lives_. Those losers...honestly...

 _Stupid Cyclone_ , thinks Louis bitterly, _why does it have to be a fucking roller coaster ride though, honestly? Why can't every fucking ride in here just be like the carousel? People can die in roller coasters!_

"Had fun?" Louis asks Harry later, just as they're eating their hotdogs on stick, both sitting on a park bench with an old woman and her well-groomed poodle on its leash. Harry has mustard on his cheek, and even if Louis' still right pissed about Harry riding that stupid Cyclone next to a stupid stranger and having stupid loads fun with them, he still reaches out like instinct and wipes it off, bringing it to his own mouth and then sucking on it. Harry smiles wickedly with intent on him as he watches him do just that, eyes flashing with what Louis supposes is a favor of sex. Well. He is such a nymph, Louis assesses, but he _is_ Louis' nymph though, so.

The woman clearing her throat on them has the moment crumbling for them, and Louis has to refrain from laughing.

"Anyway," Harry says, clearing his throat too, "I did, yeah. I had fun. Kinda sad though, I wasn't riding with you." He pouts, and Louis just raises an eyebrow at him.

"You mean, you were sad you weren't riding me instead," Louis says as a matter-of-factly.

Harry snorts at that but nods all the same anyway, and the old woman next to them in turn yet again clears her throat at them, effectively irritating Louis now this time that he glares at her. She glares back at him, scoffing. And so Harry takes Louis' hand and pulls him away, the two of them up off the bench, the woman muttering things such as _disgusting sods these days_ as they go their merry way.

"Homophobia is pretty prominent back in the days, so we can't really blame them old people, I guess," Harry immediately says just as they chuck their sticks on a bin. Louis rolls his eyes, still, stubborn about it. He pretty much dislikes homophobic people--he can't stand them! Why there are such inhuman not accepting of equality, Louis probably would neither know nor understand.

"Well, yeah. But the sheer disrespect, though. They could've at least not let us have that," Louis bites.

Clearly coaxial, Harry rounds up Louis (removing their sunglasses in the process) and stands right in front of him. He cups his face, squeezes a little, and--and he just stares back at him, looking straight into his eyes, words unspoken lingering in the slowly cooling air between them. Moments pass by as they do just that, with kids have already ran along at the both either sides of them, strolling vendors alike doing the same, and yet none of them have laid out sentences.

Just...silence in betwixt.

And until Harry's leaned in and captures his mouth though, kissing him softly, passionately, Louis responding to it belatedly with a soft sigh.

"Don't let them get to you, Lou- _wee_ ," Harry whispers teasingly against their lips, breath hot and smelling of sweet and mustard and sweet, sweet, sweet. Louis is addicted to it--to him.

"Harry," he breathes out, holding onto his hips.

Harry breaks into a grin, slowly, and it's a look that Louis would totally love to paint, like badly. "Now let's go then, yeah?" Harry chirps. "We've got ride-all-you-can tickets to take into account!"

"Mhmm, yeah, okay," is all Louis gives.

~*~

They choose to ride Parachute Jump. Courtesy of his little nympho, obviously.

It's this tall, red thing, Louis acknowledges--looks almost like Eiffel Tower back in Louis' old city if you ask him.

Pretty much, it's based on functional parachutes which are held open by metal rings throughout the ascent and descent. A bit scary at first, because you'd go up inexplicably high, but then you'd fall lightly anyway with your cute, white bitsy parachute.

Twelve cantilevered steel arms sprout from the top of the tower, each of which supported a parachute attached to a lift rope and a set of surrounding guide cables. Harry and Louis are belted into a two-person canvas seat hanging below the closed chute, then are hoisted to the top, where a release mechanism will eventually drop them, the descent very well will be slowed only by the parachute.

Louis knows he hates it already.

They--he--endured it anyway. And the ride is simply over by 7-8 minutes tops. And throughout it, Harry's taken about a hundred selfies of him, them, and the view up above, amiably. Louis is enthralled by him, as per usual.

After they discard themselves from said ride, Harry once again gets back to his mission of "making this day worthwhile" and pulls Louis with him, taking him to the first game stand he sees. He starts jumping up and down, pointing at the stuffed animals hanging at either sides of the stand. "Win me one, Louis," he says in a demanding tone of a child. Like, a legit child. Louis laughs at that, shaking his head.

"You aren't serious, babe, are you? I don't play games--"

"You are _no_ fun," Harry tells him firmly, petulant.

And so minutes later, Louis finds himself playing like a father guilt tripped by their kid, sleeves pulled up to his elbows, showing his littered with tattoos forearms impressing the lady into swooning behind the stand (Harry's been raising skeptic eyebrows at her throughout--it's quite scary), squinting at the target on the game, rainbow-colored ring in hand. He has to hook it on the loop, three of those or at least two, so that they can win a stuffed animal. Harry stays glued to his back, looking like a princess being rescued by his prince charming. Louis just bites on his lip at that, focusing on the task at hand. Or game. Whichever fits best.

He misses his third shot.

"That's it. This is utterly ridiculous," Louis grunts, giving up after his fifth try. Harry next to him pouts, crossing his arms against his chest. Louis sighs. "Look, baby. If you really want those stuffed toys, just tell me so and I'll buy 'em all for you. Every single one."

Harry looks at him. And then smiles, cheeks beet red. "Okay," he says simply. "I want...the bunny one."

And so Harry gets the "bunny one". Louis has to contact poor Preston to get inside Coney Island and meet him at Nathan's Famous Hotdogs stand after quite some time, just so he can hand the ridiculously large stuffed bunny over to him and make him wait on them by some bench inside the fun land... Holding that big toy, yes. Poor guy.

Well, Louis sympathizes in the end anyway, because he's a good boss. "Hmm, how about you go back to the car and leave that thing there instead, as well as get my painting kit at the trunk while you're at it. I'm working tonight, besides."

"Okay, Sir Tomlinson."

Louis jogs back to where he last left Harry, which is by the ferris wheel called Wonder Wheel. Heh.

"Quick, Lou! They're running out of seats!" Harry urges frantically, giddy as fuck as ever accommodated with that big smile on his face and that silly green heart-shaped sunglasses, clutching on bars along the line with people standing impatiently behind him.

And like, thing is--thing is that he looks so...laughable if it were others assessing him, really. However though, Louis is so fond of him, so he does what he's told to do as he thinks other's judgmental heads can just suck it; he picks up speed with that sense of whipped-ness within him. And he thinks, Nick would've laughed at his ass if he were here. Louis just really memorizes his best friend like the back of his hand to react that way, perhaps.

Anyway. They get to ride the damn wheel just in time after all, despite Louis' practically jumped in line and therefore cheated, getting in a purple tube in a haste, Harry grabbing on his hand immediately and entwining their fingers, attention directed on the outside of the tube at once, looking out on the view underneath them as they ascend up high.

And it is... well, beautiful. It's a lot quieter as they get to the top, the sky turning hues of pinks and oranges and yellows with white smudged clouds, sunset in which they can overview amidst the beach nearby the boardwalk, with random people scattered across white sands and grayish-blue waters. Everything's an absolute perfection, and Louis can't wait to get to his kit so he can paint anything he spots close to picturesque on and then add Harry to mix.

It will be a million dollars worth of art, if so. _When_ so. Oh mon Dieu.

"This place is like... like 50 shades of cool." Louis hears Harry gush under his breath. And Louis thinks the exact same, but probably--surely--with an entirely different reasoning and motive altogether.

Well, it's still fun while it lasted.

~*~

The Old Mill, just like the infamous Tunnel of Love, is just what Louis has partly expected. It's where you ride floating boats and ride with another person, the ride taking you into a dark tunnel with...stuff inside it. Like some sort of cave, with extraordinary musicale playing all throughout.

Nothing too fancy, all Louis and Harry did as they rode it was make out. And then they were off, earning quizzical looks from both the operators and other passengers. Louis is quick to glare at them, narrowing his eyes, rendering a reassuring touch from Harry.

"We must've went too far, babe," he says as he wipes on his mouth. "Don't mind them, they're just jealous."

"Well, fuck them all. Should just mind their own business," mutters Louis dismissively, shaking his head and putting an arm around Harry's shoulders.

They trek out the railings and go to Denny's Ice Cream Shop, given they've already passed it a couple of times. Louis buys them each cup filled with soft ice cream, mint chocolate for Harry and butterscotch for him. Considering they can't get in Astroland because of their snacks as there's this called policies, Harry requests they take a walk on the boardwalk along the white sanded beach instead. Louis holds his hand while the other discards the remains of his ice cream cone, wiping his hand and fishing out his phone.

 **_Je ne t'ai pas envoyé de message pour de l'argent, papa, ne soit pas difficile. Je t'ai envoyé un message parce que c'est l'anniversaire de papa. Tu ne vas pas lui souhaiter? Tu as oublié? Ou est-ce que tu es encore avec le beau garçon? Je suppose que tu ne changeras jamais._ ** **(I didn't text you for money, dad, don't be too difficult now. I texted because it's dad's birthday. Aren't you even gonna greet him? You've forgot? Or are you with that pretty boy again? I suppose you'll never change.)**

Something twisting in his guts has Louis clutching tightly on his phone, almost at the verge of breaking it. He can't believe Freya, he just can't! She's being...a _brat_ again, like she's always been since Phil has seen her back in that damn Foster's home. Louis grits his teeth, cursing Phil inside his head. And Harry may or may not have noticed that, and that's why maybe he snatches the phone off Louis' hand and wills him to sit on a random bench once they've stopped.

Or not. Not random, the bench. Harry surely knows his legendary singers.

"This is where Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson sat you know, back in the days," says Harry dreamily, placing Louis' phone aside. Louis doesn't mind much as he looks blankly at his phone being put away, knowing Harry won't understand Freya's text and therefore such won't hurt him or anything worse like that if he happens to read it. In turn, Louis leans his head on Harry's shoulder just as they watch the sun set by the beach completely.

Birds fly, kids run about the shore, and it's in this moment that Preston comes through, calling out on Louis with his equipments.

Harry looks behind them too, and then to Louis with an eyebrow raised.

"Gonna paint you, babe," Louis confesses softly.

"What, here? You want me naked here?" Harry asks, ridiculed albeit amusement flashes in his eyes.

"No, no, _God_ , babe," Louis says, shaking his head and laughing, "not naked, no." Exhaling softly, Louis looks at Harry with a genuine smile. "I actually...want to paint you just...sitting here. In this bench. Looking your normal self."

"Oh."

"Oui, mon amour..."

"Okay, sure."

Harry sits back on the bench wearing yet again that green heart-shaped sunglasses atop his nose and putting his arms over the wooden bench, one leg crossed over the other. Louis looks on as Harry poses facing the beach, looking over the ocean and acting rather neutral, nose pointy as ever usual, lips glued together, cherry red and a bit coated of remnants of the mint chocolate ice cream he's eaten just now. He looks absolutely, painstakingly beautiful, breathtaking and picturesque. _His Del Rey_.

"Sing for me, doll?" Louis requests, holding up his paintbrush. Harry nods, smiling just a tad.

" _My baby lives in shades of blue. Blue eyes and jazz and attitude... He lives in California too, he drives a Chevy Malibu._ "

He's always been the perfect model. The perfect singer, the perfect songwriter, and he fascinates Louis--in all the good, delicious ways.

" _And when he calls, he calls for me and not for you. He lives for love, he loves his drugs. He loves his baby too..._ "

Voice velvety and syrupy slow...

Louis paints and devours him, entitling his work as _The Coney Island Queen_.

~*~

"Thank you, Preston. I'll take it from here," Louis addresses Preston, nodding at the souvenirs and stuff they got from Coney Island, the humongous bunny Louis bought Harry at the top of the pile, and then some other things. Preston obliges, handing them over just as Louis' opened the door to their suite with his key card, letting Harry in first. The tired baby deer.

When Preston leaves them be, Louis shuts the door behind him quickly and drops the rest of the stuff by the living area. He follows Harry in their bedroom stripping off his suit in the process; as he gets there, the lights have long been switched off and the curtains drawn in, Harry naked and sprawled on their king sized bed.

Asleep.

And for the first time ever, Louis has no complaints at all. Not the feel of it, not the thoughts of it either, despite he hasn't done cocaine for a full 8 hours tops considering he loves his drugs. Also, the fact that there's no sex tonight. Well... Louis supposes that, as long as Harry's had fun and lived his dream all because of him, he'll be merry all the same about it.

Perhaps.

And perhaps he wouldn't have hoped for any scenarios else at the least.


	8. An Angel Looking To Get Fucked Hard ♡♡

♡♡♡♡

In his vision's peripheries, Harry can make out Louis painting naked at one corner of the room. And that's been the last time. He falls right back to sleep.

He wakes up again later and Louis isn't in the room. Harry tries sitting up, but fails at it. Moments to his consciousness, Louis walks in. "Oh, you're up," he says, smile visible on his lips. Harry smiles automatically, nodding a tad.

"Yeah. Morning."

"You mean afternoon," Louis corrects, chuckling. "You've been dead asleep since this morning, mon amour. You literally lived your childhood dreams yesterday."

Can't quite help himself, Harry bursts out laughing. He can feel his cheeks heating, his jaw clenching at how wide he is smiling. "Oh God," he moans in delight, "yeah... I actually did, didn't I?"

Coming towards him, Harry makes a bit of room for Louis to sit. He's dressed now, in some gray trackies and some simple shirt with a girl and a "Kissing is cool" prints on them, hair in its deliciously dishevelled state. Harry craves for him. So, so bad. "You did, baby," Louis says softly, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss on his temple. "And you were absolutely precious. Here, look." Louis gets up a bit and Harry watches him reach out on his latest masterpiece. He turns it around so Harry can take a peek.

And--wow. It's of Harry back in Coney Island... sitting on the certain bench where Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson sat all those years ago, looking over the beach, elbows at either sides of him. His hair in the painting is loose instead of how it really looked yesterday, which was tied up in a bun. The green heart-shaped sunglasses is present as well, the yellow with reds and blues sheer shirt looking grand with its three buttons down undone. All in all it looks magnificent. Harry has no words.

"This is... very different from all your paintings of me, Lou."

"Exactly," Louis breathes, pecking Harry's top of the head. "And that's why... I thought we should head back to--"

"Coney Island?" Harry prompts cheerfully, already jumping on Louis. The old man just grins at him, slightly nodding his head. And they indeed go back to Coney Island for another round of fun, only this time they have multiple painting sessions than the norm.

Louis has Harry posing for him on the front of rides and entrances like Wonder Wheel, Parachute Jump, Luna Park, Cyclone, and many more, making people move around him and look at the masterpieces he's making, earning them some ooh's and ahh's. Harry can't be prouder.

~*~

He leans with his elbows over the soft mattress as he waits for Louis to go fetch the lube and a packet of condom from the nightstand. He tilts his head, looking at the man with blown dilated eyes. He sees him rummaging through the drawers, and then a bit later looking as though he's working on something with his back turned to Harry.

Harry sighs, sitting up. He reaches out on the other nightstand and takes a piece of cigarette and lights it up with his Zippo. He takes drags and he smokes for a while as he waits on Louis, who is seemingly rolling a joint. But of course. The old man and his cravings.

Harry is glistening with sweat, naked all over, his throbbing hard cock resting over his belly, lying untouched, and he's getting so, so impatient as the clock ticks by. He sighs again. "Lou. Come back here and fuck me."

Louis makes a noise of mixed indignation and affirmation, nodding his head just once, and before Harry knows it there's grayish smoke coming from Louis' rolled up joint. Harry finishes his own cigar and flicks it somewhere inside the room, not even bothering if it would light up some sort of fabric that would start a fire. He just scoots closer to Louis instead and clings onto his back, resting his chin on Louis' shoulder to look over his hand. And then there's that blunt, being dragged countless of times by Louis, cloudy smoke of gray seeping through and off his lips. Harry swallows, and then murmurs against Louis' skin. "Can baby have some, daddy?"

Halting, Louis glances sideways and gives Harry a look of _are you sure?_ And all Harry has to do is nod, before Louis' handing the rolled up marijuana his way. Just like how he takes drags out of his cigarettes, Harry does the exact same on smoking the blunt, and then after some minutes or so, he and Louis are eventually seeing different shapes of various colors as they sing along to some Sid Vicious songs. Harry is once again bent over when their high dissipates moments later, and Louis is fucking into him fast and hard.

Louis rolls another joint after two orgasms, and Harry's yet again onboard with it, laughing and laughing even though there's really nothing to laugh about, sleeping in after a few more drags.

Comes 4 in the morning Harry feels his cock hardening without his consent, feeling something sticky and wet and hot all the way to his ass crack, making him let out a moan unprecedented. "Hey, baby," Louis mutters from behind him--his bent over position, bum hoisted into the air. He can feel Louis' stubble leaving rashes and marks on his pale pert bum, the old man eating him up good, licking and kissing. In the middle of the night, yes.

"Fuck," Harry hisses, pushing his ass toward Louis' face some more, wanting more friction and more and more and more. Whatever that more is. "Lou... _ahh_ , _fuck_...seriously?"

"Mhmm, just... hang in there, baby. You taste real good, I need to, I want you," Louis rasps out, licking long and deliberate stripes across Harry's pink rim, clammy hands squeezing and spreading on each his ass cheek. Harry shuts his eyes tight, burying his face onto the pillows. His cock needs to be touched, and so he reaches for it himself in between his thighs, pumping quick. Harry comes again afterwards, and Louis kisses him through it--along his sweaty back and down to the dimples of his back, and then up again to where his neck connects to his shoulder.

And another day is spent not going out but just in the sea of blankets and come stained pillows. Gross? Harry decides he'll shower in the morning.

~*~

Last night was great. Louis took Harry to a posh restaurant and the rest of the evening was wasted on karaoke jams with joints and pots scattered on a large table, just the both of them plus Preston at one point in a private rental stall. Harry sang problematic albeit love drunk lyrical songs to Louis--while Louis smoked away with a pipe so big and so posh, sharing the pot to Harry song after song--swaying his hips dragged and slowly, looking sexy with his velvet floral sheer shirt showing his nipples and swallows tattoo, hair tied up in a high bun with his ringlets poking out, lips coated in red chapstick just like strawberries in summertime.

And thus today is a little bit different.

They're still in Brooklyn, New York, only that now they're staying in a different hotel, still a five-star one all the same.

Legs draped over the other, Harry leans his head toward Louis' figure across the brown furry carpet with his hands resting atop his abdomen. They're smoking fresh marijuana Louis got from a close colleague again, blowing out circles with a long deliberated pipe, Harry's nickname printed on the bottom of it. Yes, Louis had it customized the other day just for him.

Louis passes it over to Harry just as he's done taking his, probably, sixth drag, the younger lad taking it with willing dainty fingers. He lets the pipe hover over his lips, looking for a brief moment to Louis to see the circles he's blowing out with those thin pink kissable lips, rendering an execution from him since he finally takes his also conceivable sixth hit, blowing circles himself as well.

The ceilings and chandeliers start dancing after a while as Harry looks on, and Harry's once again laughing loudly even with nose flaring as is, shifting from position to another as he clutches on his tummy, toes curling in his socks. Everything is...just so funny, see. He finds even Louis' simple snort fucking hilarious. And he knows it's the kush that's bringing this side of him out for the world to celebrate. It's ridiculous, but it is what it is. Harry witnesses as Louis shakes his head at him, but Harry doesn't think that's offensive--he still thinks it's funny, actually. So he laughs some more.

"You're toked, babe. Wanna take a break?" Harry hears Louis ask vaguely. Harry scrunches up his nose at it and shakes his head petulantly. Louis sighs, getting up from the carpet. "You need water, you're paling."

"No, I am not," Harry rebutts, pouting.

"Yes, you are."

Harry huffs. "Whatever."

Sighing as he stands up, Harry watches Louis go to the kitchen and come back seconds later with two cans of Cola. "Here. Drink up."

Harry takes it, sitting up, and whoa--he's feeling dizzy, like everything around him is spinning. Fuck. Harry opens the can with shaky fingers and takes a huge swig. The beverage makes its way down his throat, cold and stinging, and even then he's still dehydrated from tongue to throat. God. Harry finishes the drink then, not noticing for a second how Louis is after all watching him. When he peers from the can and places it on a solid ground beside him, Harry has the sudden urge to ask, "What?"

"Nothing," Louis murmurs. "Want dessert?"

Breaking slowly into a knowing smirk, Harry nods his head, and in a matter of seconds, he's already straddling Louis' hips with all their clothes lying at the foot of the sofa, Louis' cock balls deep in Harry. And baby loves-- _definitely_ loves--when Daddy gets high, because he gets to ride him like this, given that Louis' all too high to pound into him instead.

And their night goes as per usual, getting high and fucking later, sleeping in with a soft ballad music playing on a stereo. It's hours to their routine that Harry wakes up with yet a swirling surroundings and a heavy chest of smoke and now some warm Cola, his bum sore and throat ultimately littered with purple bruises and pinkish love bites.

~*~

Harry rolls out of bed and plants his feet on the ground, leaving Louis dead to the world and head to toe bare on their bed. Their furiously unmade bed. Harry giggles quietly at the poor sight, standing up and tiptoeing across the room, getting in the bathroom and taking a pee. He doesn't bother looking at himself in the mirror, just brushes his teeth hastily, and then leaving the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waists.

Louis is still in the same position when Harry's first left him, and while the old man lets out soft snores from his parted lips, Harry racks their temporary closet of clothes to wear just because he feels like baking for him and Louis today. _Before Louis wakes up_ , he tells himself.

Walking lightly toward the sleeping beauty as Harry names him in his head with a laugh, Harry leans down and leaves a soft kiss on Louis' cheek where it's not planted against the cushion, and then leaves the room with Louis' grey British Rogue jumper, and some blue ripped jeans worn on his endless long legs.

The suite is quiet and looking empty as usual, save for the living area where he and Louis always hangout smoking pot, some remnants still lingering by the carpet. Harry cringes at the mess and how filthy everything looks, wondering if a hotel staff would ever find out their illegal antics and the like.

And-- _Jesus fucking christ_. Harry's been smoking pot the entire week and a half. This wasn't him. Harry didn't smoke marijuana before; he didn't crave it!

Harry bites on his lip at the realization, shaking his head as he proceeds toward the ever clean and unused kitchen of this suite. Maybe if...he baked he'll forget about this soon. Yeah. Opening the two-door fridge wide, Harry is almost baffled to see how empty it is. There are boxes of milk, sure, a couple of water bottles too, sodas in can...but there's nothing more than that. What is this hotel? Harry shuts the fridge with a sigh and takes off to stand at the front door, wearing his boots and twisting the knob. He takes a long-short walk to the nearest supermarket.

~*~

It's two hours later when Harry gets out of Food Bazaar, carrying plastic bags of baking ingredients and other stuff needed for the brownies he'll be making for Louis in a little while, hailing a cab, given the far distance from the market all the way to the hotel.

Slowly reaching the place moments later, Harry suddenly grows curious by the second. There are men dressed in navy blues and dark pants, armed with guns and handcuffs, and fuck--yeah, absolutely, those are policemen out there alright, running about their very hotel building whereas the rest are coming in and out of the entrance doors. But why? What the hell is happening? They all seem so urgent. Huh.

Paying the cab fare, Harry immediately kicks on the door and opens it, grabbing on his groceries and coming out of the rental car. He jogs his way toward the hotel doors as he bypasses cops in complete uniform, pistols ready to pull. His heartbeat races fast, getting on the receptionist to ask what's going on, his hair strands sticking on their ends as the pressure builds from the tip of his nose. Holy mother of Elvis. What _is_ going on?

"Excuse me, excuse me! Can you please tell me just what the fuck is going on in here?" Approaches Harry with a hurried exhale as he stops abruptly on the reception counter. "Why are there cops? Is there a _fire_? My...my kinda-boyfriend is upstairs!"

The lady in beige uniform complete with a potato hat fills Harry in with a pretty much unhelpful information, despite his desperate attempt of asking, saying that even herself hasn't a clue. Harry frowns at that with his cheeks firing red, heart hammering harder against his throat. "I'm sorry, sir," even adds the receptionist with her head lowered.

Nodding his head in despair, Harry whips around and again there are the cops straying close, and until he turns some more that--that he sees Louis.

Louis. _Oh, fuck, it's Louis!_

Standing meters away from him within the lobby is his million dollar man in just his sleeping robes and stuffed hedgehog slippers, hair completely messed up and eye bags under his eyes visible, cellphone in hand present and beard on his jaw scruffy and tangled, a clear evident of sweaty palms running across it over and over again. Shit.

"Lou!" Harry squeals in horror. Louis looks up immediately as he tears his eyes away from his phone, worry etched all over his pale face. Holy Jessica Rabbit.

" _Harry_ ," Louis squeaks, and--and that is it! Harry runs towards him as he lets go of the shopping bags altogether.

Louis meets him halfway, and Harry wraps his arms around him almost right away.

"Oh, God, Lou, what's happening?"

"I've been worried sick! Where have you _been_?" Louis says in one whoop, voice strangled and strained. "Where did you--where did you go?"

"What do you mean _where have I been_? I just went to the supermarket to buy some stuff! We're out of stock in our damn fridge, is why!" Harry hurries out, breathing erratically.

"Really? That's it? _Fuck_!"

Harry parts a bit to look at Louis, who keeps on rubbing a soothing hand across his back. "Why? Did I... what... what are all these cops doing in here? Did you burn something--"

"I _called_ them, Hazza!" Louis rushes to say, still panicky and horrified as ever, blue eyes wide and once pink lips as white as a ghost. "I thought you--when you left, I immediately thought you--got lost or something! I tried calling you, but you _left_ your phone on the table, and...and I know you don't know your way much around New York, so I called the police! And I was just--I got _so_ scared! I panicked, and--I thought I'd lost you--"

" _Aww, Lou!_ " Harry cries, not letting Louis finish no more as he pulls him in for another hug, squeezing him tightly and breathing him in, the familiar homey scent Louis has clinging to his senses. Harry does not want to let go. "Lou! Fuck, I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! _Babe_ , it won't happen again, I promise!"

~*~

Harry bakes them brownies and fudge, stuffing a special essential in them also known as weed, and then prepares two glasses of wine for each of them. Louis sits on one end of the long dining table they have in the suite while Harry takes the other beside Louis, clutching cutlery, eating their pastries in peace.

Little by little, Harry starts feeling like he's floating in cloud nine, same applied to Louis, and before they even know it... they're kissing each other hungrily, clawing aggressively on one another's clothes, and Louis' madly hissing in Harry's ear to _never fucking do that again, doll_ and _you truly drive me crazy, don't you_ and _I'll fucking call the swat team next time if I have to if you do that to me again_.

Harry hasn't the nerve to giggle this time despite his high state, just taking and taking in whatever Louis' telling him and letting the older man lay him across the table, thighs spread out with Louis between them. He has his legs snaked around Louis' hips, and Louis is sucking love bites all over his throat and jaw, stubble rough and stingy against his flesh.

"I'm so fucking gone for you, you know that?"

Harry moans his yeah, nodding a bit as he tilts his head sideways, just so Louis can have better access. Louis takes that as a go-signal, and then he starts nipping on Harry's chin and cheeks, until their lips are smashing against each other again, tongue dipping and tangling.

Pulling away in one quick retraction, Harry whines in his throat as he watches Louis in the peripheral of his visions running and disappearing in their bedroom, asking himself, what does he think he's doing? But then Louis comes back later and he's holding what Harry can make out of is a piece of... a pink tablet? Huh. Louis flicks it in his mouth and downs the rest of his wine, swallowing hard probably to make sure the pill goes down in his system, and--Harry really is fucking curious now. Louis comes back afterwards to kiss Harry. But, really, what was that?

"What was that, Lou?"

"Hmm?" Louis grunts, kissing along Harry's earlobe and cheek.

"What did you down just now?" He asks, feigning nonchalance, when really, he just wanna fucking know what that pink tablet is.

"It's...just, some sort of daddy thing, babe... It's nothing," Louis answers him with a lustful voice. _Vaguely so for that matter._ And like, what the actual fuck?

Prying Louis' hands off him, Harry sits up straight and that in itself elicits a blinking daze from Louis, mouth parting distractedly.

"No secrets, Lou. What is that you swallowed just now?" Harry demands with a huff, leaning more towards petulance now than any--not even lust.

"It's...wow," Louis exhales, running a hand across his face, another free hand resting on his hip. "It's just--a fucking pill, baby, it's nothing," Louis says, clearly in agitation and frustration. "Can we just--kiss? Please?"

Shaking his head, Harry firmly mouths _No_. "Until you come off honest to me, Mr. Tomlinson."

Sighing loudly, Louis turns around and gets back in their bedroom. Minutes later he comes back and in his palm lies another one of those pink pills. "Ecstasy," Louis mutters, handing it over to Harry, "they're called ecstasy, H."

"Oh," Harry breathes, blinking down on the small tablet. "What does it do..."

"They make you loosen up, makes you feel horny for hours. They'll make you want to fuck. Hard."

"Really?" Harry whispers in awe, picking the pill and putting it over his tongue.

"Really," Louis mumbles, reaching for Harry's glass and pouring him some wine. Harry gratefully takes the glass and chugs the pill down.

And true to his words, Harry craves for one hell of a fuck from Louis minutes to hourly so, every pound Louis gives never just _enough_. All Harry can see are swirling lines and heavy strobe lights, making him think he must be in some night bar... a fucking night bar. With Louis? Oh, fuck, yeah, this is... this is great. Hell yeah.

White...gold...blue...black. Orange. Orange? Violet circles and blue balls. There are green lights and red lights. A stoplight? Really? Are they driving? No way.

Okay, so, gold...silver and gray. Wait, that's not gray. It's just... pink. Yeah, pink. Everything is spinning and the walls are narrowing on him. Harry needs to... he needs to get up. Maybe get the fuck off his clothes, because it's truly getting hot in here. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Hmm... dandelions everywhere. Why are there lions everywhere? Jungle? This is the jungle? Or--or is this a zoo? What the fuck? Harry laughs. Loudly. And he's suddenly in pain, crying his heart out.

"Lou... _Louis_ ," he wails.

Distantly, Harry can hear Louis' voice crying for his name, saying over and over again, "You'll be okay, baby! I'm here! I'm here, I got you!" And some other time, he hears Louis in his panicky voice shouting, "Harry, stay with me! Don't sleep, baby, please! Stay with me!"

And then there's something cold...

Freezing. Harry's freezing.

Are they in the shower?

Harry can't remember.

He just can't remember...

~*~

Harry struggles to come back to consciousness, his eyelids heavy and lips immovable... breathing passive and heartbeat slow; he blinks dazedly and everything is white. From the ceilings to the walls, to the...

Wait a minute.

Harry can hear people whispering everywhere where he is, some people murmuring lowly in the background, and--hold it. That's his mom. That's his mom's voice. And she's--rattling, she's _not_ whispering at all. His mother is angry with something, but what is she angry for? What's happening?

Tilting his head a bit and shifting his eyes, Harry adjusts to the brightness and...

It really is his mom. Talking. No, not talking. Rambling, is she?

Harry doesn't know. Is feeling too tired and sleepy and weak to know. He can't open his mouth. Why?

Why?

Everything goes black in a second, all sounds and voices both drowned out, and Harry's back to sleep.

~*~

He wakes up again later, and this time it isn't that bright anymore. All the whites he saw earlier are now dimmed to a darker silhouette, the voices from before completely zoned out. And--where were Harry again the last time?

"Mmm-heh..."

Someone gasps. Harry blinks.

"Hazza? Are you awake now?" It's Gemma.

"He's awake? Oh, thank fuck, baby." Louis. That's Louis' voice!

"Mhm-shhemma. Lou... Yeah... Mmwake," Harry manages, ever so weak. What's wrong with him? "Where--m' I?"

Gentle and careful hand clasps his own, and then there appears Louis' worried sick face. Harry knows that--he's seen it before. He's seen it just yesterday, in fact. "Baby, you're... _oh, baby_." And Louis starts to cry.

"Lou..."

"You're in a hospital, Harry," Gemma supplies behind Louis, frown across her face, eyebrows knotted in concern.

"Ho...hospital..." Harry exhales shakily. "Whah..."

"You overdosed, babe, and I'm sorry," Louis sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"Oh..." Harry breathes, blinking rapidly. "Oh, fu...fuck. How long 've I been...'ere?"

"Four days, H," whispers Gemma, shrugging weakly at him. And fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. They fucked up big time, didn't they? His mother was even here! _Shit_.

"I'm so sorry," repeats Louis as he tightens his hold in his hand. "Sorry, baby, I'm so, so, sorry," he says over and over again.

Harry decides he's sorry too.


	9. Nobody Can Compare To The Way You Get Down, Down, Down ♡♡

****♡♡♡♡

Harry's never been posed as the hardheaded kid in his life. He's never been seen as the black sheep or someone who would make their mothers go crazy just because of something they did, but. He is though as of now, unfortunately. And it's actually surreal, unbelievable...unfathomable, really.

All his life Harry's been the apple of his mother's eyes; he made her laugh--not angry, let alone teary-eyed, which, she is right now. Harry's always been the boy who she wanted him to be, or pictured, at least; careful, healthy-living, thoughtful. The mama's boy he was. But none of those are him...for now.

He's finally well awake after five days of unconsciousness, Harry, back leaned against the hospital bed's headboard--uncomfortable headboard, mind--with the hospital's blanket draped over his waist down, thighs and legs now capable of moving unlike when they couldn't all those days ago. And Anne is feeding him porridge on bed, "just to occupy that tummy of yours with something, love," she had said with a sniff, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Harry aches to touch, to tell her he's so fucking sorry, but Anne doesn't seem to wanna buy that sorry at the moment, and Harry doesn't want her bleeding with tears yet again. Just like how she's been over the past 24 hours as is.

Harry opens his mouth, wide, being obedient all the while. The silver spoon makes its way toward his mouth, the one Anne has been clutching on for dear life, sticky looking, stale porridge mounting it, making Harry gag a bit as he forces himself to swallow it down. Swallow down that freaking porridge. Oh, how Harry hates it whenever he gets sick and Anne having to witness it. _Not on her watch_ , he begrudgingly thinks.

He looks up at his mom with his hands over his stomach, looks at the exhaustion written across her facial features and the creases surrounding her forehead, her hair sticking out, completing the picture adding the frown on her lips. It's clear he's had her absolutely agitated--worried--and Harry just wants to go back to sleep all the sudden. Anne looks up to him just in time as well though, and for a moment there... too much hurt words and injured phrases are unspoken while their gazes intensely lock.

And then Harry can't help wince internally, watching her lift the spoon up with some porridge in it just to drop it in the bowl again and let out an exasperated sigh.

_Here it comes..._

"Is this really the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, H? Really?" She straightforwardly grits, referring to Louis obviously, inevitably.

"Mom--" Harry exhales, but Anne cuts him off when she slams the bowl on the bedside table in anger, startling him into a halt.

"Stop it," Anne bites out, tears brimming again, "just _stop_ it, Harry. You're coming with me, I'm taking you back to--"

"No!" Harry cries ludicrously, reaching out to her as he refuses to hear the rest of what she were to say. "Please! I--I'm not a kid anymore, mom! _Christ_!"

"I know! But this is --," Anne bolts up from the chair and starts pacing frantically back and forth, pulling at her hair, "--this is madness! You're being reckless, Harry! You're--you're out there getting yourself killed, and--and doing _marijuana_?" This time, her eyes have widened and once again she's raging mad, mixed emotions and flooding concern pooling her eyes. "That is it, young man. You're coming home with me, and there's no way you're gonna ruin--"

"Mom! For God's sake!" And Harry finally bursts, he can't help it. "I'm an adult now _for crying out loud_! You can't just make me--make me quit my career here in California and send me home, just because I failed you _once_! Just once, mom! All my life I've been the boy you wanted me to be, isn't that right? I--I failed you once, mom. Please..." Harry buries his face in his palms, shutting his eyes tight and ignoring the throbbing of his head. He's still drugged with something, he's aware, only now they're antidotes and they and this argument are making him a bit dizzy all at once. He wants out if this.

A few more beats. A few more seconds. Harry hears his mother let out a long, suffering sigh. And the door to his hospital room opens quietly, footsteps barging inside.

"Pardon me, madame."

 _Louis_. Harry looks up in a haste, heartbeat racing frantically in his chest.

" _You_ ," Anne lets out in a strangled voice, pointing at Louis with a glare. "You did this to my son--you did this to him!"

She charges.

"Mom, no, don't!" Harry shrieks, going for rolling out his bed without caring about the tubes stuck to his skin, making both Anne and Louis put their attention back to him, especially Anne who was about smacking Louis across the head. Harry can tell she is yet again second away from bursting out in tears, and Louis on the other hand--oh God, Louis looks like a walking dead. Fuck. How long has he been here? He's wearing trackies and shirt, hair completely messy. What's happened in the last few days?

"I can't just let this pass, Harry," Anne is saying, but all Harry can see is Louis giving him this... this _look_.

Harry starts to cry. He just can't stop his emotions. "Please. Why can't we talk in a civil way? Sort things out?" Harry croaks, beating heart seemingly wanting out of his chest. "Please. Please, mom." And he repeats, when no one answers him back, "Please?"

Anne hangs her head low, finally submitting she seems, and Louis straightens up at that, going towards him with a flourish--ever the collected and...posh man he is. Harry will never get over him, he doesn't think he can, especially not after everything the man has done for him. Taking him to places he's always dreamed of being at, pleasuring him, tucking him to bed and everything. Harry feels for Louis, it's true, and just seeing him right now--right here, present during his mother's rage and reprimanding--is making his heart swell with so much hope and faith. If Louis doesn't care; if he and Louis are just a fling, he wouldn't be here.

Harry closes his eyes, Louis' worried expression being the last thing he sees just for that one moment.

And then he reopens them and--Louis is leaning over.

The old man wraps his strong arms around Harry and breathes him in, and Harry feels a lot better all the sudden. "Okay, darling. Okay. Sshh. I'll... I'll fix things with your mother," Louis whispers in his ear, rubbing soothing hand across his back. It's uncanny how he's instantly reassured.

Harry hopes they concede though... His mom's approval of Louis means the world to him, he realizes that now.

~*~

Louis and Anne talk things out while Harry's in the same room as them, and Harry can't help but look up at the ceiling every time the drug usage and marijuana abuse are being mentioned, feeling so cornered and guilty. Luckily for Harry, Anne loves him very much a lot and he's aware of that, so she doesn't blame him for anything at all.

"This is all my fault," Anne croaks weakly, crying into her palms. "I was always away from work when Harry was just a kid--always away from home that I didn't even have the chance to look after my baby boy. Oh, my baby." She turns to Harry, sadness all over her facial expression. Harry's skin crawls, heart breaking in half. Fuck. This is his fucking fault, not hers.

Harry watches quietly, at loss for words, as Louis moves forward and gathers his mother in his arms, hugging her and lending comfort. He's said he's deeply, deeply sorry for probably about ten to eleven times over and over again now, and Harry thinks it's safe to say Anne's ready to forgive.

And accept. Hopefully. Harry is just--so, so fond of Louis he wants this fixed.

"I will promise from the bottom of my heart, madame. I will take care of your son... not get him in trouble, ever again." Louis is whispering in Anne's ear, Harry can make out from where he is still lying on the hospital bed. "I will never let him touch a single narcotic, abusive medicine ever again, madame. I promise."

"Bullshit." Harry hears his mom whimper out, sniffing a couple times against Louis' shoulder while choking Harry out of breath little by little...but then later on _concedes_ anyway, muttering, "But I'll hold you to that," letting Harry breathe properly on the other hand.

Harry hates drugs.

~*~

Harry bails out of confinement a day later.

Louis has finally fixed everything with Anne, swearing to his heart that he'll never let Harry let any type of drug into his system ever again, telling Anne he's with Harry not just for having fun, but also for business and all that painting related stuff. It's been a long discussion between them it's turned out, with Anne mentioning age gap and _manipulation_ (whether or not Louis is doing just that because really, no matter what, Louis is still an elder and could sugarcoat his way through Harry's head, and that of course Anne will always be Harry's mother even if he isn't a young adult like he is right now no more but a 75 year-old man, thus she has had the right to be this way) and Harry can swear it's the first time he's ever seen and heard his mother talk about him with anyone like that--the way she reprimanded Louis about his health, about his being, and even about his feelings for the old man.

_His feelings for Louis..._

Harry's thought about being embarrassed, probably, once she's opened her mouth to Harry's unconditional feelings toward Louis, but. She's caught him off-guard instead. Harry has just only felt hard for his mother after _the talk_. It's been proven Anne cares so much about him that she put his feelings first before anyone else's.

When Harry thought she'll fail him and tell Louis off, Anne has just gained Harry's highest of respects even more... by asking Louis to _please, please, please, take good care of my baby, Mr. Tomlinson. Do whatever business it is you do with him, go ahead, just please be lovely to my boy. I can see he likes you very much, so I suppose he won't be separating himself from you at any given time at all. I know my son, he can be a bit stubborn about stuff... and I know he'll want me to get what he's been sending through. That message, that you will be kept. You, Louis. My son is a keeper, and you're one of his precious people now. I can't take that away from him. So please. Also, good luck on that gallery._

His mom is pretty incredible and Harry's thanking his lucky stars so fucking much she didn't pull the "stay away from that man, he's a bad influence on you" mommy card.

(Well, for the record, Anne has never anyway. She's just really that awesome as is, and Harry was a supposed dead meat. In theory at least.)

Right now, Harry's sitting on the backseat of Louis' Mercedes Benz with Gemma and Althea--who is asleep in his lap and is sucking on her thumb--and they're on their way home after a brief talk with the doctor and the receptionist by the lobby, final goodbyes and good luck's thrown left and right. The ride is silent but not awkward, thankfully. Aside from hearing faint buzzes of music coming from the radio, all else that can be heard inside the car is Althea's suckling of her thumb as well as her soft breathing, and disturbingly so they remind Harry of his happy nights with Louis back in Brooklyn, New York. Their little sanctuary there, their king sized bed and ruffled blankets. Their bedside table with all their condoms and that near empty bottle of lube, Louis' scattered canvases inside the room, Harry's sheer shirts and boots left unsettled. Oh how the nights pass by quick. Harry misses New York and Coney Island. But mainly his fuck nights with his million dollar man.

The familiar alignment of tall thin trees that has you recognizing Beverly Hills from miles away comes into view after a few heartbeats, and eventually, Harry's feeling exhaustion just as Louis has started pulling over the curb and putting their ride to a halt. It's Gemma who nudges him to bring him back to reality as she scoops her daughter up from his lap and in her arms, opening the door and stepping out of the car. Harry watches his sister and his niece get inside the house without another word, and that's the only time then that he turns to face Louis completely by the driver's seat, forcing himself for a genuine smile.

"Hi," he utters shyly, for the first time ever in their history.

"Hey, baby," Louis breathes out sounding...nervous perhaps, leaning over and capturing his mouth. They share a soft, languid kiss, tongues sliding against each other's, breaths coming in short puffs. It's their first kiss again after days of Harry lying on that hospital bed, and Harry never has it in him to miss it this badly given the fact that all they did was kiss and touch and have sex back in all those days in Brooklyn. God, he's so gone for this man.

As they pull away from the kiss, Harry stares at Louis' eyes for a moment, drinking in the blues of them which are darker than they ever were in the dimness of the car, making Harry shiver inwardly. He sighs. "Look, Lou... I'm so sorry about my mom. I didn't--I didn't see that one coming. I mean, she--"

"Hush, Harry. It's okay with me," Louis cuts in, kissing him again as he lifts his chin up. "She's a lovely mother, and I see where she's coming from. I was the one who fucked up real bad, so really. It's fine that she scolded me." Louis looks at him earnestly, lips pursed into a thin line, stubble ghosting along his jaw lines.

And--

And if it isn't for the sincerity radiating through Louis' facial features right now, Harry wouldn't have to buy this gesture from him. But then again, there it is--pulsing from his veins, skittering into the thin air. Harry weakens on his spot, and all that he can do is nod and get out of the car with Louis following him inside Gemma's house, no more words spoken from either of them.

Inside the house comes warmth and cookie dough scent lingering in the air. Gemma's probably making some, courtesy of her 4 year-old daughter. Harry smiles at the thought, already aiming to go straight to the kitchen, but a throat being cleared by Louis from behind him interrupts him. "Huh?" He puzzles, turning around.

Louis motions for the staircase, mouthing _bed_.

His cerulean eyes are glistening under the posh, yellow light of Gemma's living room, Alpha stance on display as he waits for Harry to make a move, the usual relaxed posture he has ongoing for him all and out before Harry, and really. Harry is only human, and just by being near Louis is driving him so, so mad, especially at the moment since they haven't fucked again for quite some time, and that he's so desperate for it, always so... submissive for Louis... Jesus.

He obeys then, abandoning all attempts of stealing cookie doughs from a bowl, marching up the stairs and looking over his shoulder with every carefully executed step, just so he can see if Louis is following him up the second level of the house.

Is Louis going to fuck him in his sister's guest room, then? Really?

Harry suddenly feels all giddy and sweaty, turning the doorknob and stepping inside the room with uneasy strides. Louis follows suit behind him, all quiet and mysterious--always fucking mysterious--and until he's standing next to the bed and gesturing for Harry to sit on it, smiling softly without any traces of...lust. But why?

Harry obeys anyway. He does sit on the bed, and he watches Louis nearing him.

Just as Louis' kneeled in front of Harry, slacks against carpeted floor, Harry in instinct exhales, " _Lou_ ," eliciting a playful smirk from Louis.

"Haz," Louis says softly, accent thick yet smooth. "This is not what it looks like, darling."

"Hmm, what?" Harry blinks down at Louis, who is holding one of his boot clad feet.

"I'm just tucking you to bed, sweetheart," explains Louis patiently, taking off each Harry's boot and sock using delicate hands, putting them under the bed safely. And if there's one thing Louis' good at besides making Harry come thrice in a row, it's treating him like this. Like a child, like a...like a fragile china doll. Harry doesn't know whether to be frustrated about it or not, because seriously?

"Oh."

Louis smiles warmly at him, pushing Harry's chest to lie down gently, the back of his head hitting soft cuddly cushions, covers being pulled up to his chin. "Take some rest, yeah, mon amour? I'll see Gemma downstairs to have a bit of chat with her, and then I'm off to bed too."

Harry wants to ask if he'll see Louis again tomorrow, like what would be their plans after this and the like, but. All that comes out of his mouth is, "Uh...okay," and he's finally shutting his eyelids. He is indeed exhausted as it is. So Louis just kisses his forehead in the end, murmuring French words to his skin... and then he's gone.

~*~

Harry wakes up the next day with a text from Louis saying he's out of the country again and is back in Paris for some paperwork regarding business. It's about the upcoming art gallery launching that is going to be held in Palm Springs Cali, Louis supplies, and there's yet no given names for it that's least to be shared. Harry's heart drops at the news, about Louis being away miles from him that is, despite it's about important stuff and nothing more.

Harry sighs, chucking his phone away and at the foot of the bed, rolling over his back and staring up at the ceiling. This is going to be a long day, he thinks. Well, he _decides_ anyway.

Comes afternoon that day, Gemma bangs on his door finally getting irritated at his behavior and drags him out of bed, telling him there's food waiting for him in the kitchen, and then leaving hints he should meet her at the pool afterwards so they can maybe chill and not fucking mope around just because Louis is gone. _Temporarily_ , she reasons. Harry sighs loudly, because that--that still sounds boring. And disputable.

He misses Louis fucking Tomlinson.

Weeks pass in a blur after Louis' departure, and thankfully Harry's getting back to his feet again even without the person he's gone used to the presence of and is finally seeking out his friends from VR like Ed and the girls again, and it is only now that he's receiving the news about whatever has gone down in said gay bar long after his leave.

He's on the phone with Ed hearing all about it, with his fingers clutched against his chest, heartbeats tugging. "Are you sure it wasn't because of me? My leave?" He asks worriedly, frown etched upon his lips.

"No, Haz, no," Ed answers him immediately, "It was... there were these men in black masks and coats that raided the bar. I heard they had a deal with Si. And it was the bar that'd been sold. So no more Velvety Roses for everyone. I promise you, it wasn't anyone's fault but the owner himself."

"Fuck," Harry hisses. And then he swallows. "What about the girls though? Are they fine? Leigh-Anne and Jade. No one got hurt, yeah?"

"No... no one got hurt. But there was this friend of your boyfriend--," Harry's heartbeat skips at the mention of boyfriend, knows exactly it's Louis Ed is pertaining to, because _no, no, Ed, he's not my boyfriend_ , he wants to say in a sad tone, but keeps his mouth shut in the end, just proceeds to listen, "--Mick is his name, I think? He was there at the night of raiding, and he got pushed around briefly. Lucky enough, that lad, a man there helped him get out of the place given he was drunk to his bones to do anything."

"Nick," Harry says after a while.

"What?"

"Nick is his name. The friend of my...boyfriend."

"Oh. I see."

"Yeah," Harry whispers. He clears his throat, not opting to give anything away no more. "Anyway, Ed, thank you for filling me in about this. I guess I should call Louis now, tell him all that's happened. See you for drinks later, bud?"

"Yeah, alright, Haz. I'll bring Niall and Zayn with me."

"Okay, sounds great."

They hang up seconds late. Harry dials Louis' number next, waiting for him to pick it up as he presses the phone to his ear.

Seven rings in, Louis answers. " _Bonjour, vous êtes bien sur le portable de Louis Tomlinson. Que puis-je faire pour vous?_ (Hello, you've reached Louis Tomlinson's cellphone. How can I help you?)"

"Lou, it's me," Harry says, eyebrows knotted in confusion at whatever Louis said in another language. Or French. Honestly, sometimes Harry forgets Louis doesn't speak the same language as him.

"Oh, baby, hey," Louis exhales, sounding as though he's been doing something in a rush but is cut off halfway. Harry can't help bite his lip at the possibility. "Uh, hold it, I'm just gonna..." Louis trails off, making Harry queasy a little bit more. He can hear muffled noises in the background on the other end of the line, then people talking in French including Louis--arguing in French, really--before Louis' addressing him again with a loud sigh. "I'm sorry 'bout that, sweetie. What's the matter then? I miss you."

"Ah, yeah. It's...okay, Lou. And I miss you too," Harry says for another start, cautious with his every word. He just can't help wonder that maybe he's being a burden right now, so sue him. "Well, I called to, like, check up on you. Hope I'm not interrupting anything... How are you doing?"

Louis hums in acknowledgment, before answering. "I'm fine, Harry. Just a bit busy at work right now. But other than that, I'm good. And you? Are you taking care of yourself, sweetie? You know I don't want you getting yourself in a bad condition again. Ever."

"Erm, about that..."

"What, baby?"

"Things went down at VR when I was gone, apparently. So like, I've no job now, officially." Harry laughs sardonically having first heard it for himself by _himself_ , shifting the phone to his other ear, "there had been a raiding said Ed, and... yeah. There's no such thing as Velvety Roses anymore. It's been sold by Simon."

"Oh mon Dieu, I'm so sorry, love," comes Louis' reply, actually sounding sympathetic. Harry closes his eyes at the relieving tone in his voice, all but wanting to be with him right at this moment. Why Louis had gone to Paris without Harry's consent firsthand, Harry will probably never know. It hurt, being left alone like this--being excluded. But by chance, would Harry have done something to change things somehow before anything happened? _He's not even Louis' boyfriend!_ It's sad how he needs to be reminded that all the time.

"I'm sorry about me too."

He hears Louis sniffle on the other end, and then there are more shuffling sound and door slamming. "Say, Haz. When I get back there, you'll come with me and we'll hook you up on a new one, yeah? We'll find you another job, I promise to you, darlin'. For now I'll just finish all my work here, set up the gallery and finish up my paintings of you, and then I'll be sure to come fly home as soon as everything's settled. Sounds good?"

As per usual, Harry is the younger one between he and Louis that he is. He nods despite Louis can't see. "Sounds good."

It's Louis who ends the call first.

And once again Harry's left clueless as to when exactly will Louis come back home to him.

~*~

Harry and Gemma hang out by the pool on a late Sunday afternoon, when it's not that hot anymore, all for Althea's sake. It's what they seem to do nowadays, ever since Harry's learned he's unemployed at least, and Harry's just... getting borer and borer each day.

They either bake something, play by the pool, watch something on Netflix and set it on the living room, or just chat and chat and chat about nothing and everything. It's ridiculous, predictable, and most certainly far from what Harry and Louis did when it was them who did stuff together, and Harry just can't get the impatience creeping in his system out of his head. He needs to find a job soon, he knows, but what about Louis' proposal of that hooking him up on a new one when he comes back from Paris, huh?

Harry shifts from his position to face his niece playing by the kiddie pool, as he and Gemma lie side by side on the pool chairs, sunscreens protecting their skin from the Californian sun. It's been a good half an hour since they got here after all. Harry will be donning another patch of tanned skin and tomato cheeks, presumably.

While Gemma opens up another can of soda and tosses one that isn't open yet to Harry, she lifts up her sunglasses and fixes Harry a look. "So," she starts to say, sitting up straight.

"So, what?" Harry shoots back, opening his own soda too.

"Mom said you've fallen in love with him. That right?"

Harry looks up at Gemma with his own sunglasses still perched on the top of his nose, opened can of soda readied to his awaiting mouth, breathing through his nose as he measures the look on his sister's eyes. She seems really curious about knowing his answer on this one, which is quite strange since this must be the first time she's ever cared about his relationships (or potential relationships anyway, in his case with Louis at the moment) and Harry surely is floored. And he remembers, rather belatedly that he has to speak up.

"Yeah," he murmurs, finally, sipping on his drink. He puts it down on the pool chair right between his thighs, sitting up straight and facing his sister properly. "She's right."

Gemma blows out a sigh. "Must be pretty special, that man."

"He is," Harry answers right away, making Gemma raise her eyebrows. Harry sighs, squinting up at the sun. "Listen, Gems. Louis is... He's a great man. He may be old, and... and over experienced, truly more intelligent than me and could probably, I mean--," Harry laughs slyly, "well, I mean, he definitely could. Like, manipulate me and say all these nice things just to make me do things he so wishes me to do so, but. But fuck that, Gems. He's great, alright? He cares about me. Like, I can feel it. He totally cares about me. About _us_. And he just didn't--he didn't take me away from VR just so he could... he could..."

"What?" Gemma mutters, blinking passively at him. "Just so he could fuck you?"

Harry nods weakly. "Yeah..."

Gemma rubs her temples before starting talking again, rendering a mental wince from Harry, because _oh fuck, no, here comes her reprimanding_. "Look, Haz. It's okay, okay? Shit happens, you ought to know that, must've seen that happen. If a man fucks you over like this, it's fine, I get it, I've been there--"

Harry bolts right up.

"Gems. Stop it. You're making it sound like Louis bought me, or--or used me just for sex. Which, it's not that. It wasn't that at all." He starts pacing, closing his eyes and remembering back to when he first met Louis. _Those eyes, those lips, that nose, that smile, that...stance._ Harry looks down at Gemma; they are not the same. Harry is not a fucked-over like she once had been. "Listen, sis. I'm gone for Louis not because he bribed me into it. I'm gone for Louis because I felt something alluring from him. Louis is... he is most indisputably something else; _we_ are something else. When he smiles at me, I know it's real and not for show. When he buys me things, I know it came from the heart--as if he really did think of me as he bought that shirt, as he bought that phone, as he bought those boots, and that when he gave me them, he knew they'd make me happy." Harry breathes in, and then breathes out. "I know he cares for me, Gemma. He cares for us. Our...our whatever-this-is-called is something else, I just know it. I'm not someone he uses for his business. I've faith in him. I do."

Silence washes over them as soon as Harry's finished his little frustrated speech, chest heaving maniacally, and Gemma from where she's sat looks as though she's been lectured by their mother all over again--back when Allen, her husband, whom she had caught cheating on her all those months ago and made her bawl her eyes out, became the reason for Anne to yell at her saying, "What did I tell you, young lady? You should've listened to me and just married Francisco instead! I knew the likes of Allen couldn't be trusted!"

And really, Harry wants to feel guilty but he's not. He just is _not_. Well, she asked for it, didn't she? Harry is not a fucked-over. He's not _her_. Louis wouldn't do that shit to him. Louis wouldn't do any shitty thing to him, in fact. Allen is a douche bag. Very far from the gentleman, and posh, and delicate French Louis Tomlinson that Harry has come to know; very different from the man who brought colors to Harry's once black and white life.

"Fine then," Gemma then says after a while, voice low and a bit gravelly, educing a very subtle gasp from Harry. She chances Harry a look at that, and then rolls her shoulders as if to say _you're lucky I'm not in the mood to argue_ before flopping back down on the pool chair again. "Fine," she repeats, firmer this time and finality etched to her voice, making Harry's own shoulders sag. It has Harry shutting his mouth in an instant, and sitting slowly on the pool chair again, mirroring Gemma and enjoying the rest of the afternoon without much to say.

They don't speak about Louis ever again after that, uncovering the drugs and the painting-related business they have under their noses, et cetera, but instead they talk about Gemma's divorce papers with Allen, with Harry braiding Althea's short, brunette cherubic curly hair that is, sipping on more sodas and munching on fries.

The day ends and Harry doesn't apologize for probably triggering something in Gemma's mind.

~*~

It's taken a whole of two weeks of nothing but him and his apartment, the television and his couch, the mailbox and his laptop, the bed and his pillows, before Harry's finally woken to the probable fact that Louis, perhaps, isn't coming home to him soon, and therefore he's once and for all looked for a new job instead of living like a monk alone, thanks to his friend Alexa Chung who knows all places and people where Harry can make use of his talent.

Ever since Louis has gone, Harry's taken the opportunity to write more songs with his guitar accompanying him. He makes them mostly by his balcony, viewing the loveliness of his town from his building, drinking in the changing hues of the clouds as the time passes before him.

They're songs about what he and Louis have experienced over the past months. About the drugs, the feeling of being high substantially, about the car rides and the wines--those magical days spent in Coney Island, and that one time when Louis called the police for him, like, that one was _wild_! He actually called a whole bunch of cops just because he thought Harry wouldn't know his way back to the hotel.

_If Louis isn't just as into this relationship as he is, then...fuck. Fuck that, because he sure is._

But Louis' never called him again though, is the thing, just drops texts each day telling him about his day and the art gallery progression, and nothing more. And like, it hurts Harry, alright. Being taken for granted like this and all... being set aside all for the meantime. But what can Harry do? Louis is a fucking busy man, and an actual adult, whereas Harry--he is just someone Louis met months ago by the neighborhood. The one Louis took to elegant places, the one Louis took to their dreamland. He pretty much hasn't the right to demand more than just sex. Or more than just texts. He can't just...ask Louis to fly home, because who does he think he is to do such?

Harry shakes all thoughts, heart aching severely in his chest. He misses Louis so fucking bad... But he has to damn focus right now. He's sticking to his composed songs. _Right_.

Harry's gonna sing some of his new songs tonight, has readied himself for this moment once it comes, and now he's just adjusting his shirt as he looks at himself in the mirror inside his very own new dressing room. It's just his third night at Foxy Moonlight, his audience here all brand new to him and stage still rather unfamiliar, but he feels quite home despite any of that anyhow. Because this is what Harry does, innit. Singing. Performing. This is what he does best--sharing his talent of singing and songwriting to his small but just perfect crowd, his men, his boys. And places like this is where he finds peace and welcoming auras... this is his comfort zone.

His forte.

"Harry, babe, you'll be up in five. Be ready, yeah? And best of luck!" It's his friend Alexa by the door who's talking, grinning at him with her thumbs all up.

Harry smiles widely at her in turn, doing a quick twirl holding his customized mic--the one with the green tape. "How do I look?" He asks.

He's wearing one of the sheer shirts Louis bought him months prior, the color pink one with flowers in them, with his blue jeans accentuating his look and his pink boots as well, curls still up in a bun. Alexa makes a show of putting a hand under her chin as she gives him a once-over, as though inspecting him fully, before she breaks into a knowing smirk and says, "Approved," in a husky drawl.

Harry can't help grin giddily at hearing that, very much happy and contented straight away, just because Alexa is a fashion guru, and that what she says shall be put into full consideration.

Five minutes tops to his wait, someone from the crew finally calls him up and tells him it's his turn. Harry picks up his guitar then and walks out the dressing room while pulling his hair tie off letting his locks free, taking over the stage in one swift whoop.

Just like his other two nights of warm-up performance here in Foxy Moonlight, the crowd is once again hyped and lively--probably livelier than his crowd back in Velvety Roses--and they're practically howling like hungry wolves as though they've been starved for centuries, anticipating for seeing someone perform on stage and sing songs to their awaiting hearts, always seemingly happy to just, like, clap for you, cheer for you. Harry finds it absolutely incredible. He feels like a star--a ruler of one's world. He's happy to show what he's got.

"Good evening, folks, it's me again, Harry," greets Harry warmly through his own hooked up microphone, lit up cigarette in his other hand, a smile on his lips lingering just for everyone to devour. He puffs once and blows white smoke, smiling at the crowd.

"Harry Styles! Blow our minds with your composes!" One audience shouts, clapping so hard. Harry blows a kiss their way, waving afterwards.

"So, I've got a few new songs to sing to you lots tonight," he says, grinning wickedly at everyone, faces of men scattered under the dim lights of the bar wolf-whistling for him. "And again, I need to start with something. Hope you like this one." Harry finishes his smoke and crushes it on the floor, situates his guitar around his shoulder and arm, and then stars strumming the tune to Summer Wine, his new masterpiece. " _Strawberries cherries and an angel's kiss in spring... My summer wine is really made from all these things._ "

He faces the crowd, chin tilted up, eyes searching the crowd of neglecting man. He strums the strings earnestly. " _I walked in town on silver spurs that jingled to... A song that I had only sang to just a few; he saw my silver spurs and said let's pass some time... And I will give to you, summer wine. Ohh-oh-oh... summer wine._ "

~*~

The last song Harry sings for the crowd is Lucky Ones, earning cheeky winks from customers, before he's finally being let off, followed by the ear-bursting applause every drunk men has in store for his heartfelt performance, as they so insist it is.

He jumps off the stage, bringing his mic and guitar with him, lighter and pack of cigarette in his pockets. He whips out a mango flavored bubble gum and pops it into his mouth, chewing obscenely as he meets up with Alexa at the back for a high five. "You did awesome, Haz!"

"Thanks." He giggles, letting her give him a one-sided hug.

Alexa pulls away quick, looking up at Harry as she ruffles his curls just like what Gemma used to do to him back in the days. "By the way, Harry, someone's looking for you earlier."

"What?" Harry narrows his eyes, ears perking up. _Could it be..._

"Yeah, I think they're using the bathroom right now though, but try checking the dressing room, see if they got back in there." Alexa shrugs, like it's no big deal. _That doesn't seem like him then_ , Harry deems. His heart drops.

"Uhm. Okay. Anyway, thanks again."

"Sure! No problem." She winks at him, adjusting her stuff in her arms. "See you tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah. See you." Alexa pushes past him just as soon as he drops his eyes, and out the bar she goes with her bag and hat and phone, as if she's in a hurry. It's only Tuesday, isn't it? What's the rush? Jeez.

Harry shakes his head and proceeds to go to the dressing room minutely so. He stops at the closed door to stare at it for a moment, before turning the doorknob and--

He almost drops his guitar to the floor.

Surrounding the dressing room, the dresser, the settee, and every possible corner of the room, are bouquets of colorful, wonderful flowers smelling of mixed sweet fragrances and nature, and Harry's glued to his spot, because that--the one who's standing right at the middle of the room is--

"Salut, chéri." Louis smiles sexily, wolfish fangs flashing before Harry. "I missed you."

"S-s... salut... _Fuck_." Harry chokes on air, can't fucking help it, eyes stinging for some reason, just by having them laid on Louis in flesh yet again after so many weeks of not happening so. And--oh my. "Lou--fuck. You're...you're really here?" He squeaks.

Slowly now, Louis frowns at him, eyebrows knotting together and apologies in his eyes. In a matter of seconds, he's charging towards Harry out of the sudden, pulling him into a massive warm embrace, holding tightly on his waist and nape. Harry's dropped his things on the floor by then, and he's burying his face at the crook of Louis' neck, arms wrapped around his torso and breathing him all in. His familiar homey scent--his expensive homey, musky, millionaire scent. _His million dollar man is back_ , and he's wearing one of his fancy suits again, hair slicked back into a gorgeous quiff, face ever so seamless and dreamy and--fuck. He's back. He's really, truly back.

"Sshh...there, there. I'm back, baby. And I'm never leaving you like that ever again, I promise you. I promise you..." Louis rasps and murmurs in his ear, pressing soft kisses on his hair over and over again, can not stop for the life of him-- _would not_ stop for anything.

Harry sniffs. "I fucking missed you so much, you ass. You have no idea. You didn't... you didn't call me..."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I was sorting out some things in France," Louis tells him. "But believe me when I say this; you're all I've been thinking about while I was away, and you're all I see. Your name is what I always mention to Freya and Phil... to Liam, my assistant. My stay there was supposed to be about distancing from you--because I must admit when you got confined it scared me--but then again instead, the stay I had there just made me realize a lot of things concerning you."

Having heard all this, Harry braves pulling away at the hug just so he can spare Louis a look. "Yeah?" he murmurs in question, letting Louis study his face and wipe at the tears staining his cheeks.

"Yeah," Louis says back in affirmation, voice hushed and eyes glassy. "And we should probably talk about it...soon. I've got all the time anyway. We do."

Nodding his head, Harry kisses Louis on the mouth and presses their foreheads together as he pulls away. "Tell me all about it whenever you're ready then, I'm all ears."

"Mhm... I know. You always are."


	10. Down On The West Coast ♡♡

♡♡♡♡

Harry and Louis didn't talk about _them_ yet. Not yet.

What they did after their little reunion was drop by to a fancy restaurant for a fancy dinner, with Harry tearing up as he was overwhelmed by Louis' unannounced return after not just a month but beyond that and but with a bunch of Harry's favorite flowers, series of apologies and I miss you's added to the mix. It was quite... romantic per se, with Louis asking Harry if he was alright every minute and checking up on his mother again despite everything, whether or not she's still against the two of them and the like. Awfully romantic he had been. Harry literally had lost his voice and all taunting thoughts.

They went back to Louis' place as well, the freshly returned man driving and Harry sitting at the back together with the millions of roses yet in their wrappers, just before the night finally ended; instead of talking about where they stand now with their relationship, Harry had suggested they slept everything off firstly, call it a night and just go back to solving whatever problem it is they have some other lesser inconvenient time and all, putting Louis' jetlag to consideration. Besides, Harry was tired too, and his eyes had gone red from crying so much that they hurt, and he just really wanted to cuddle with Louis, kiss him goodnight and be tucked securely to bed.

They have all the time they need anyway, he convinced himself before closing his eyes, letting the old man spoon him to a deep, dreamless slumber.

So far Harry thinks they're fine. Well, he hopes they are anyway--he doesn't think he can handle any more separation blues with Louis, he just can't. They've been separated enough and it wasn't the best feeling he's ever felt his life. Everything felt so disastrous and sad and he was just so lonely. Days without Louis felt wrong and fucking stupid. It was like... it had to be LouisandHarry, not just Harry. Just Harry was pathetic and idiotic and remorseful.

Harry sighs to himself, facing the whole body mirror Gemma has in the master's bedroom, tracking the look on his outfit for tonight's event. It's the day Louis and his crew will be launching the art gallery of his paintings of Harry over the past months, and Harry feels quite... excited about it, he supposes. It's not like he has other options for what he should feel about this anyway. Louis is, no doubt, the love of his life, so really there's nothing else he should be feeling but happiness for the old man's success. He's worked hard on this, even right from the start of their unfathomable relationship, and he made it about Harry as well and not just about business and money and himself, which is generous and thoughtful of him, so...

So Harry sucks in a breath and proceeds to tie the silky black necktie around his neck, pulling it properly to finish his look--black ripped skinnies, suits and ties and boots. Well. He looks rather... elegant.

"You look great, bro," Gemma says from behind him with a click of her tongue, startling him a bit into whipping around and facing her, Gemma shooting him a smile of approval from the bed. She isn't coming tonight, only Harry is, although Louis invited her and their mother Anne to this particular event. Louis seemed fine receiving No's from them; he said he understood their decisions just well. Harry couldn't be bothered to pinpoint someone to blame, considering what happened the last time Anne and Louis met.

"Thank you, sis. I really needed that." He smiles at her. She nods and looks down to her phone, tapping on the screen. Harry turns back to the mirror to start sorting his long hair out.

Moments to his preparation, a car honking from the outside sends through a message that it's time he runs downstairs to meet up with his million dollar man; Harry isn't deterred anyhow. He's still got to wear his rings and bracelets and necklace. Gemma does the honor of calling out on Louis out the window then. "He'll be down in two!"

"Alright! Tell him to take his time, Gems! This is his event, not any else's!" Comes Louis' response to that. Harry can't help smile just a little bit to himself, feeling his cheeks heat up and heart enlarge in his chest, butterflies fluttering in an instant in his tummy. He thinks maybe Louis loves him too.

_He hopes Louis loves him too..._

How will he know though if he doesn't ask him?

But fuck it, Harry can't. He just...can't. Because what if Louis really doesn't? Harry will fuck everything up if he asks him now. Shit.

Swallowing all the questions bothering him all for the sake of his sanity, Harry finishes up at last and turns to Gemma by the window. He walks toward her and she opens her arms for him immediately--they have a little sister-brotherly hug, inhaling each other in. She taps him on the back twice, wishing him luck. And Harry just closes his eyes and accepts just that, keeping it all for everything that's bound to happen before tonight ends.

"I love you, Gems. And...thank you."

"Don't mention it, Haz. I love you too anyway, you little bugger."

Harry laughs softly, nodding against the side of her neck. "Yeah, yeah, I know."

As they step away from the hug, Gemma has this fond smile on her face and Harry thinks he'll have that image engraved to his memory and soul for only forever. He's thankful to have a sister like Gemma.

~*~

Harry walks down the staircase until he's at the living area of Gemma's humble shack, smoothing down his suit and checking his boots whether they're dust-free or summat. They're seamless.

Looking back up the stairs, Harry locks eyes with Gemma from the top of it who now has Althea in her arms, and she waves at him her farewell with a wink of good luck for the last time tonight. Harry accepts either with a nod, winking back at her, and then the next thing is he's stepping out of the heavily humidified night that is LA, fast faced with the gorgeous ride of one Frenchman Louis Tomlinson just merely steps away him.

He strides forward with practiced ease at that, letting Louis' driver for tonight, Riley, to open the door for him, murmuring his thanks in return.

And then there's him. Seated at the other far corner of the black limousine, one leg crossed over the other, wearing a silk tux hugging his curvy body...his perfect, delicious frame, is none other than Louis. Harry notices belatedly the iPhone he clutches in his right hand; he ignores it.

"Hey," Harry says softly as he climbs in and sits down, Louis immediately scooting closer to him.

"Bonjour, darling," Louis says just as softly back then, voice raspier than ever, cupping his right cheek and pecking him on the mouth. "Look gorgeous. Stunning."

"As you are, Lou," Harry mutters shyly, blush creeping up his neck and down to his dick. It's surreal how just being near Louis again after a couple of hours can do things to him, really. Like naughty, kinky things. Harry brushes the thought, focuses on the now where Louis is once again lifting up his iPhone and punching keys onto it, the car starting down the road and some background song booming inside the fancy air-conditioned limousine.

Settling back and as the vehicle goes, Harry next to Louis spends the next fifteen minutes clenching and unclenching his clammy fists listening to Bon Iver play their hearts out. The trip to the launching gallery, mostly as it turns out, is filled with silence and inexplicable tension... for some unidentified reason. Harry hasn't a clue as to why it's like that. Why instead of Louis actually acknowledging the fact that _hey, would you look at that, we're here again. Alone. Together. In a car with you looking so fuckable in that suit. Maybe I should do something about that_ , he's entirely focused on his cellphone and is not thinking about just that.

Harry inwardly sighs, worrying his lower lip with his index finger and thumb, pinching stressfully and chancing glances Louis' way more than he likes to admit. The old man looks his way, catches his eyes and holds his gaze. He reaches a hand out and Harry has to take in a sharp breath because there--right where Louis held him--is one of his weaknesses. His thigh. Warm palm (Louis' warm palm) against cooling thigh. Harry slowly puffs out the air from his lungs, relaxing back in his seat and looking out the window.

And so their ride goes on without the two of them speaking a word or two.

~*~

 ** _Del Rey Ungodly Posture, Otherworldly Beauty: Innocence Lost_** , reads the big black and red bold, cursive lettering of the gallery coming into view before Harry, mills of guests and expensive cars flooding the longevity of the road for it.

Had the ride been quiet for the entirety of it and the road sturdy for Harry, it is all worth it in the end anyway. Aside from the fact Louis' clung to his piece of meat during the killing silence they had ongoing, just the sight of this constructed gallery _all for Harry from Louis, oh my gosh,_ is making it all wonderful and surreal and okay for Harry in the least.

Despite there is clearly something wrong with Louis. That they are playing some sort of distancing game here. He hasn't spoken much to Harry ever since they reunited this evening...

Looking ahead and out the limo, brushing off other thoughts, Harry inspects with his own two eyes the other expensive cars arriving to the gallery before they do so. Streetlights against porcelain windows; blinding shininess of vehicles and drivers opening car doors for passengers. And then, rich looking people getting out of them. Of those important rides.

 _Damn_ , he thinks. _Silky dresses, high heels, shining long gowns, thick furry coats and shoals, pearls around the ladies' necks, hired hairdresser quality hairdos, tuxedos for the guys, neck and bow ties, signature leather shoes and--_

Jesus Christ. What has Harry even gotten himself into? This is... not him. Totally different from the usual places or events he's been in. Do they really have to go in there, be with those people? Rich people? Do they really have to get out of this car? Out of this temporary safe space? What if they judge Harry and his outfit for tonight? Tonight that Louis says is his. This night.

Harry looks up at Louis, blinking dazedly, and boy does Louis seem rather confused...about something...as he fixes Harry a look.

"Dear, I've been calling your name," Louis says then. Gently. Ever the gentle man he is.

But wait, what?

"Have you?" Harry says dumbly. Louis nods, and then he puts a hand on Harry's forehead as though he's feeling his temperature. Which, yeah, he probably is. But why? "I'm sorry. I spaced..."

"It's 'kay, Harry. But oh, you are hot. Are you ill?" Louis asks in a slyly worried voice, accent thick as ever. "Do you need to go to the hospital? I can cancel the event for you, mon amour."

"What?" He blinks. "Oh, uh. No, Lou. Please, let's just...go."

"Are you sure?"

Harry nods. "Yes, of course. I know this is very important to you. You've worked months on end for this gallery launch to happen, and I respect that you need this, so. So we're doing this. Together, yeah?" _Together. Despite the fact that I think I'm gonna be sick. All these people... rich! People!_

"Alright, mon amour. We're going in then. Just hold my hand."

As they finally get to the front of the entrance, Harry finally sees the wholeness of the outside look of the gallery itself. From what he can make out, it's at least two storeys with high walls and wide, lengthy square meters... with probably round staircases inside that may lead up to some sort of... balcony. Or mezzanine, perhaps. Which, fancy. This is proper fancy. He gulps inwardly.

"Yes," he says to Louis after a short pause, and they clasp hands. Their driver getting out the car has the show on the road's sounds fill the air and Harry's ears momentarily. And that has made Harry's heart leap in terror, because fuck. This is happening.

Their car door, the one where Harry is sat near, opens up as inevitably and there stood Riley smiling at him offering a hand. Harry doesn't need to be signaled twice. He takes Riley's hand, not taking his other off Louis' grip, and climbs off the limo with Louis in tow. Getting blinded right then is an understatement once flashing of many cameras shoot toward Harry's existence. And Louis. And Riley, probably. Oh, whatever, Harry can't see a fucking thing, there's just too many of them.

It's loud. It's packed. It's rich-studded. He can hear various calls from various people. Hear different languages, but mostly French. Harry feels out of place. There is just so many things and people that are surrounding him--those he isn't used to. It's horrendous. And he hopes not for long.

"Mon amou." He hears Louis say. "Come with me, we're going in."

Nodding slowly, Harry lets Louis pull him and toward the doors of the gallery. They walk on red carpet. Wow. Looking back, Harry sees another car pull up as Riley drives off the curb, and--

A woman in black shimmering dress comes out of it.

Freya. Is that...? Isn't that Louis' daughter?

_Oh, of course. This is Louis' gallery being launched here, isn't it? Of course his family would be here._

But wait. There's another one. A man.

"You still with me, babe?" Asks Louis next to him out the sudden. Harry whips his head to face him and nods, forgetting whoever was that he saw just now. Louis leans down and kisses his forehead. "Good, because I want you to check this out..."

"Check what out?"

And they get inside the gallery exhibit hand in hand.

Harry can't quite breathe.

~*~

Chandeliers hang from high ceilings and tall walls made by white bricks stand grandly around Harry. Waiters in proper suits cater around several faceless people with diamonds in their bodies champagne and sweets. Everything looks gold. Looks immaculate. And Harry's mind is scattered.

His eyes wander aimlessly. The place. This place is what months ago were. This place is what he and Louis are. This place is what their relationship has been. Harry and Louis are this gallery.

His face, his body, his long luscious curls. They're everywhere inside this gallery. Louis' creations.

His skin, his tattoos, his ass. They're in this fancy zone. All for the guests to see. Louis' paintings.

His smile, his sleeping persona, his morning look. They're here for people to look and admire at. Those days when Louis woke up next to him in bed. Those times he woke up to Louis smiling down on his sleepy body, holding up a paintbrush.

Tall, short, girl, boy, man, woman, drunk, sober, half drunk. All and any kind of people inside this Harry-sort-of-hall. They are looking at paintings of him. _Of Harry_. All made by Louis. Are they... are they smiling because of it? Happy? Proud? Amused?

...Judging?

Harry is mostly naked in them. _People see his ass. His nipples. His body._ So are they judging?

"Harry."

Harry gets pulled out of his trance slowly. "Lou." He almost hears himself breathe out. And then he looks at him. The old man is smiling crookedly, eyes empty and stance fidgety.

"Did you like it?"

Speechless, rooted to his spot, Harry in the least manages to nod his affirmation and lean down to give Louis a wet, soft kiss on the mouth. Louis kisses him back, but unlike their usual kisses, not as eager, not as solid. Harry pulls back at that and blinks back the threatening to break tears from his eyes. Louis really is acting strange tonight. What even happened back in Paris when he left Harry for quite too long, didn't call him, didn't reach him? Did he... oh my gosh, did Louis get back with his ex-husband? _Was that--_

_The man with Louis' daughter. Who was that? Was that Phil...?_

_Was that--_

Louis distracts Harry's train of thoughts as he puts a hand at the small of Harry's back. He whispers in his ear, "Look around you, mon amour..." Harry does.

Everyone--all the guests, the rich people Harry is referring to as--is looking at their direction. "They're looking at us. Why are they looking at us, Lou? What's..."

"No, baby," Louis says as a matter-of-factly. "They are looking at you. My star. _The_ star of this event."

Harry's breath hitches against his throat, as he makes short-second eye contacts with several faces he's not and probably will never be familiar with. And he sees them smiling at him, lifting their glasses of champagne in a toast gesture at him, some nodding and some even winking. He tries his best to smile back. He succeeds mostly.

And for a moment there, he actually forgets about his slight dilemma.

~*~

There's turned out to be a little stage at the far corner of the gallery exhibit. (As well as a grand white piano on the side, some bookshelves with books for law in them.) And Louis gets up there after a while--after he and Harry have drank a few champagne and eaten some pink and purple macaroons, leaving Harry with Nick who has arrived a couple of minutes ago. He's been chatting with a man next to them by the bar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening," Louis starts to say to the mic, looking out into the crowd as some spotlight lights him up, earning him glances and attention. "Isn't it such a beautiful night?" _Murmurs of agreement_. "I would like to thank each and every one of you for coming to this event. For the launching of my very own new exhibit for this year's theme, sultry. And for celebrating with the success of it with me." _Applauding and glass clinking_. He lifts his glass of red wine in turn to that, nodding his head at them with such big bright smile.

Harry carries himself and focuses on the way Louis must be searching the crowd, applauding with the lot. He watches as the older man looks out--looking for someone. Harry stands back.

But then once such icy blue eyes (that are looking grayish under the spotlight as of the moment) lock with Harry's green ones, Louis once again speaks over the crowd and the ballad background song with ease, "If you haven't noticed... did not know... the beauty in those paintings, as a matter of fact, is among us tonight."

 _Heart beats fast._..

"Harry Styles, everyone," Louis says in a purely proud voice. Harry can't be wrong about that one. "Please, darling, come up stage with me."

"Go on, chéri," Nick whispers next to him, mirthful. Harry has no other choice but to comply. He moves through the crowd that is once again giving him full, quiet attention, and makes it to the stage where Louis is holding a hand out.

Harry gets up there with him, their hands intertwined. Harry just then remembers that Phil is here, and he's probably witnessing all this unfold before him.

"This is him, ladies and gentlemen. The show. The masterpiece in flesh. The reason this event is being held right at this very moment." Louis lifts up his hand and places a kiss on his knuckles. "Isn't he just ungodly?"

The crowd applaud and some sigh in awe, as though they're listening to some Disney story. It's all too weird and animated. But for some reason, Harry feels good about it.

As Louis proceeds with telling everyone to make themselves comfortable and wishing them to enjoy with the browsing of his exhibit, Harry has his sweet time looking over the guests and spot Nick on their spot. He's laughing, taking a sip on his champagne. And then he's walking towards someone who probably called on him, leaning forward and lending an ear.

It's the man who got out the car with Freya.

Phil. Louis' ex-husband. Harry feels himself swallow hugely, heartbeats racing double time. What is that man saying to Nick? And would you look at that... The best friend of the ex-husband, passing words to each other right now. They're close friends, surely. How can they not? Louis had been with Phil for years. Nick is his best friend. It only makes sense they're that close--whispering on one's ear.

The three of them hung out back then...

Not like Harry--he and Nick aren't even friends to begin with. He and Louis never mentioned others when it was just the two of them after all. All they did then was have sex, sleep and do drugs together... went to the hospital and... be scolded by his mother.

They never talked about other people but them. It was always just them. And... they were happy just like that. Or Harry _is_ happy even with just that. He wonders if Louis is too.

~*~

After the speech Louis gave to their guests, he and Harry go down the stage and let the violinists take over. They greet some of Louis' friends and Harry gets introduced to everyone in an all the more personal way.

He smiles, he laughs at the right times, and shakes people's hands as he states his name.

Some asks if he and Louis are an item, some congratulates them for their success, and some compliments Harry for his good features and blinding smiles as they say so. It's a fun night so far, and Harry's uneasiness from earlier is almost vanishing now...

"Hey there, baby," Louis says softly in Harry's ear, "enjoying yourself?"

Nodding once, Harry flashes Louis a genuine smile and mutters his, "Yes."

"Wonderful. This is all for you, you know..."

"I know," Harry murmurs, heart growing ten times bigger as his face grows hotter by the minute. Things Louis do to him.

Stepping into his space, Louis, Harry feels slender fingers under his chin as the older man urges his head to look up. Harry obliges, the born sub he is. "Harry, babe."

"Yes, Lou?"

Louis looks at him in the eyes. Blue burning through emeralds. His mouth opens. "About the... about the talk. If you know what I mean?" He searches Harry's eyes, and Harry thinks he doesn't have to. Harry already gets what he's implying. "The talk about us."

_He's right._

"Yeah," Harry says. "I've been thinking about that all day, actually. Or ever since you came--"

" _Bonjour, Monsieur Tomlinson!_ "

Louis looks at Harry, eyes immediately engaged in communication. He sighs. "Excuse me, mon amour. Be right back." He plants his lips against Harry's cheek, hand at the back of his head, and then leaves with his wine. Harry watches him go, back retreating from him and greeting yet another bunch of guests in gowns and tuxedos.

_His million dollar man. Look at that. That ass behind those trousers, that wolf stance in that suit. His alpha... His Louis._

Harry slumps back against the bar and blows out a sigh. Louis finally mentioned the talk. He smiles on the ground, thinking about what might happen when Louis comes back. Will he bring Harry home from then? Talk about them in the limo, on the way home? Back at Louis' home in Beverly Hills?

Harry suddenly wants to celebrate on his own--not because he's the star tonight, but because Louis is also thinking about 'them' after all. Harry asks the bartender for another drink.

~*~

Minutes to his alone time had been about relaxing with whiskey and still being congratulated by people. Some even tried hitting on him and drunk women almost kissing him as they jumped him, but of course, Harry was quick to get away. In the end their husbands or friends said their apologies, and then they were leaving but not without asking for pictures with him. Which well, that was...new. Sure, Harry's used to people knowing him because he's a singer, but.

But that is different. That's when he sings in pubs, in front of drunk men straight out of work. Sweaty old buffs driving trucks and motorcycles, wolf whistling amongst the crowd and wanting to bend him on tables just to fuck him.

This--this is another story.

Here, Harry is praised because of his beauty. His face, his body, his hair, and his smile. Here, Harry is a fragile china cup, adored by everyone. Here, Harry is a different kind of star. He's a model instead of a performing singer, and it's...well, it's different.

_Another story._

Several pictures, hugs, handshakes and pecks in the cheeks from various people later, Harry finds that Louis is still not back. Harry gets another drink. Martini this time. He sips the red-orange liquid, letting the hotness together with its coldness coil against his throat, landing straight to his stomach and making him gag a little. He breathes in, breathes out. He's beginning to get dizzy.

From where he sits by the bar, Harry can see Freya with her father, chatting away. She doesn't see him. Good. And so does Phil. The old man is laughing with some people, constantly looking at the time on his watch. Poor guy, he's probably itching to get out of here now. The place is filled with his ex-husband's new kinda-boyfriend after all. If Harry were him, he'd probably wouldn't even come in the first place, fly all the way from Paris to California. What kind of effort even.

Anyway, Freya seems to be looking for someone. Anyone. She's in a black dress with gold shoal around her shoulders, holding a silver purse and a glass of wine on the other...which reminds Harry of Louis yet again. Maybe it's with Louis where she inherited the love for wines. Harry's never seen Louis touch any other alcohol tonight except for the red wine. And even when they were alone back in Brooklyn. Aside from...his other narcotics, Louis seems to love his red wines.

"Hey," someone suddenly says besides Harry along the bar. Harry looks at the person.

It's a man. Probably about Louis' age. Tall, dark-haired, prominent-jawed and tailor-suited. He looks fine. Harry nods at him in return. "Hey."

"So... You and Tomlinson," the man begins to say, voice octave lower than when he said his hey, standing a bit too close for comfort next to Harry. He can almost smell the still-nameless man's breath--vodka and cherries--as well as his cologne for how invading of space he's being. And, it's very not like Louis. His smell. This stranger smells of Rolex watches and Axe flavored chocolate, hair put together by spray, unlike Louis. Louis whose sweat smells of all expensive stuff known to men. Louis whose breath smells of mint and vanilla. Louis who always, always smells of strong, thick leather and cash and Gucci.

He's _not_ this guy. Harry wants Louis. _Now_.

He sighs. "What about Louis and I?"

"Nothing, just..." The man trails off. And Harry can feel him leaning down to face him. Harry can only hold his breath and take a brief step back, because what the actual heck? "Tell me, pretty boy, how much did he pay you, huh? Did you guys fuck? How come he gets to have someone as beautiful as you? How? I mean, for a married man, I must say he's got great taste--"

"He's not married." Harry wasn't able to help himself, he snapped.

"What?"

He faces the man and pushes at his chest. He repeats, louder and firmer this time, "He's not married." Slamming his glass against the bar, Harry glowers at the man and says, "Louis is a single man. He's _divorced_." Despite all the insults this man has thrown, that one thing was the only one that had Harry in rage, it seems... And it's no surprise to him. He... loves Louis.

Yes. That's right. Harry loves Louis. He does!

_He's unconditionally, madly, deeply in love with Louis Tomlinson._

"Problems, gentlemen?" _Louis_. "Harry, Mr. Brighton. Problem? What's going on, mon amour?"

"Lou," Harry says in awe looking at Louis with wide eyes, relieved that Louis is finally back in their spot. In fact he's so relieved he hugs him.

"Hey, hey... what's wrong, baby?" Louis murmurs in his ear. "Did he do something? Tell me." It's actually still fascinating to Harry how Louis' voice can turn from sounding gentle to sounding dead pissed in seconds flat.

Harry pulls away and looks back at the man--Mr. Brighton--with raised brows. He looks damn terrified as fuck. _Coward_ , thinks Harry with a huff. It's obvious he and Louis know each other, this Brighton guy, probably from business or whichever. And this man has clearly seen better days. He knows he can't compete, and besides, this is Louis' territory. His event. He can kick him out with a flourish. And anyway, Louis has proven countless times how he's powerful enough to have whatever he wants from someone as is. So Harry probably would just let this asshole go.

"Nothing, Lou. Just getting a bit dizzy now is all," Harry lies. Or part-lies anyway, since he really is feeling dizzy now because of the alcohol. Mr. Brighton at the sight of them hugging like this leaves then without another word, but not after Harry has given him the bird as he goes at least.

"I see. Well, I missed you, doll face," Louis tells him huskily; lips brushing slyly against earlobe. "I miss you all the time, you know that? People here keep on praising my works--my paintings of you. They claim you are elegant and the epitome of perfection. I agree with them all..."

Harry closes his eyes, placing his chin against Louis' shoulder. "You were brilliant, though. With your paintings of me. Every single one of them, Lou. They're... beautiful. Real talent. You are the epitome of perfection."

"Thank you."

Harry pulls away from their hug. He fixes Louis a serious look. "Please, Lou," he says, "Thank _you_."

"Harry..."

"Yes?"

Louis smiles. And it's like the sun has risen from the sky, gray clouds dissipating as they give way for him. Only him. "I love you."

Harry tears up. And he wasn't able to help himself again. He jumped Louis as soon as he said those three words and engulfed him in for the biggest hug. "I love you!" He cries. "I love you, Lou! Oh, it feels so good to finally say that. Jesus Christ."

Louis chuckles. Sounding teary so, he does. And he hugs Harry back just as tight, one hand grabbing on Harry's ass cheek as if to get a point across that Harry is only his. Which, yes, always. Harry's been Louis' since that first time they kissed at Velvety Roses, honestly...

"I love you so much you have no idea, mon amour..."

Harry sniffles. "Then I'm glad I know now, Lou," he sobs. "Because like, even if you are my kinda-boyfriend, I've still been so paranoid these past few weeks thinking of you, you goof! Constantly missing you, always talking about you--thinking about us. Like, where we really stand in this relationship that we have!" He sighs, sniffing, slumping his shoulders down. "I felt so lost then..."

"Harry...baby, sshh. I'm so sorry it took me this long," Louis says softly, thumbing on Harry's tears. "But me too, oui? _Me too_ ," says Louis loudly, cupping Harry's face and making him look up. Louis looks utterly breathtaking being all open and sincere like this. "I am in love with you. Always have been, chéri. No idea. You've no idea."

"I wish I always had an idea." Harry sighs.

"I said I was sorry, darlin'."

"Forgiven..."

"Hey."

"Hi?"

"I love you," Louis says again, now smiling that contagious smile of his. Harry doesn't stand a chance, as he smiles back. "Met my ex yet, mon amour? Come 'long, he's an okay guy. He's probably goin' t'love you and be envy of me for having someone like you. Come."

Harry wipes at his tears-stained cheeks as he lets Louis pull him and into the crowd. They meet with Phil and Freya by the other side of the gallery for real-- _for real_ \--and it's pretty professional. They're a bunch of professionals. And true to his words, Louis, his ex-husband truly is a nice man after all. Just not as nice as Louis of course, but. Harry will give him that. Especially since the man compliments him a lot. Just the same with what others have finally told him earlier though.

Freya on the other hand tries to flirt with Harry again, just like when they first met, but doesn't get away with it this time though. Louis makes her get everyone more drinks for her actions without making it seem like he's getting territorial over Harry, despite they've got about loads of waiters wandering around the place anyway.

~*~

"So," Louis says after a while. Into Harry's skin while they're back in his limousine, on their way back home to Louis' white little mansion.

"So?" Harry shoots back, mirthful as he feels a whole lot giddy, sober now and happy. Red puffy eyes slightly droopy. He's definitely gonna sleep with Louis tonight.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Louis asks, biting on his earlobe and licking across where he left marks right after.

"No. It was... a very eventful and great evening. Thank you, Lou, for--"

"No, Harry," Louis rushes to say, pulling Harry closer against his chest. They're hugging in their seats, and Louis as usual is the big spoon behind Harry's taller frame. "You. Merci, mon amour. You made all. This. This event. All possible for us, baby."

Smiling quiet to himself, Harry cranes his neck a bit--just a bit enough to kiss Louis on the corner of his mouth. "Okay then, Lou. You're welcome. And I..." _Another kiss_. "I very much love you."

Louis kisses him back. "And I love you most, doll."


	11. You Call Me Lavender, You Call Me Sunshine ♡♡

**Épilogue**

 

♡♡♡♡

 

**_H A R R Y_ **

It's been a while since Harry had written a couple more songs again, given the fact that he'd stopped ever since he and Louis started beating around the bush before eventually giving in. Harry from months prior received a call from a Frenchwoman called Adeline, asking Harry to come down and visit their studio for special one on one auditions, explaining they'd once saw Harry perform back in Foxy Moonlight that one night in September and impressed them.

Of course, being the aspiring singer slash performer slash songwriter Harry was, he accepted their offer and went down for a bit of a chat. He'd performed in front of at least four music label directors and managers, tried his best into making them swoon with his original pieces Old Money, Gods and Monsters, and Bel Air--all songs inspired crafted by his days and nights with Louis, his boyfriend at the time and now more than just that--succeeding with it throughout.

They signed him up. Of course they did. Now, Harry's got his own manager in a music company label, is almost finished making an entire EP titled as **_Brooklyn Romances_** , something he himself thought of, also inspired by those times he fell in love with one Louis Tomlinson back in the state of New York. He would've named it something along Coney Island's home base, all because he's a sucker for it, but then he decided upon it last minute anyway. Because when he saw Louis walked into the room where he was once writing down some heartfelt lyrics about sex and shared drugs between a couple, he opted for something Louis-centric, hopeless romantic-esque title instead. And he deemed it perfection.

Louis loved it too. "Suits you well, baby," he had commented, kissing Harry on the mouth, admitting he was in fact proud of him. Well, Harry only snickered to himself at the time, because alas, little did Louis know it was actually about him. _A very Louis-centric EP._

The tracks he'd put there so far were totally about Louis; about his thoughtfulness and kindness, his fierce perfect smoulder, his cold blue eyes, his wolfish handsome grin, his alpha millionaire stance, and his affinity for narcotics. Well, fuck, sue Harry, yeah? He's fucking obsessed with the sweet old man, so like, everything else can just go away.

**_Track 01 You Can Be the Boss_ **

A track Harry made out of being inspired with this Daddy Kink thing that's going on between him and Louis, with Harry going all ultimately submissive and pliant once Louis has laid him on a bed (preferably theirs), letting the older man take control, dominate and manhandle him.

_You taste like the Fourth of July // Malt liquor on your breath, my, my // I love you but I don't know why..._

_You can be the boss, daddy // You can be the boss // Taste like a keg party, back on the sauce // I like you a lot, I like you a lot // Don't let it stop..._

_You can be the boss, daddy // You can be the boss // Bad to the bone, sick as a dog // You know that I like, like you a lot // Don't let it stop..._

_He had a cigarette with his number on it // He gave it over to me, "Do you want it?" // I knew it was wrong but I palmed it // I saved it, I waited, I called it_

_The liquor on your lips, the liquor on your lips // The liquor on your lips makes you dangerous // I knew it was wrong, I'm beyond it // I tried to be strong but I lost it._

**_Track_** **_02 Shades of Cool_**

This track was made from way back, so Harry thought it's safe to say this is a sad song. It was crafted during his and Louis' first few night outs, is the thing, those moments they fucked around, Louis being yet semi-committed to his tragic past and all. Harry got inspired, knowing how sad a man Louis was, then after they had sex the first time, Harry knew a new song just needed to be made out of. That same time Louis left for Paris, Harry also left his song book alone... But then Louis came back though, and Harry had to file his leave of absence from Velvety Roses (rest in peace), just so his supposed time there he could spend with Louis and Louis alone. Or writing as well, apparently, because that was when he continued with this song.

It was still incomplete by the time they landed in New York. And until Louis first brought him to Coney Island, the old man requesting that he sang, that he pulled this certain song. There, on the boardwalk, was where Shades of Cool was originally first heard. Now Harry had it all completed, just waiting for the rest of the world to hear it.

_My baby lives in shades of blue // Blue eyes and jazz and attitude // He lives in California too // He drives a Chevy Malibu_

_And when he calls // He calls for me and not for you // He lives for love, he loves his drugs // He loves his baby too_

_But I can't fix him, can't make him better // And I can't do nothing about this strange weather_

_But you are unfixable // I can't break through your world // 'Cause you live in shades of cool // Your heart is unbreakable._

**_Track 03 Million Dollar Man_ **

This track was made not because Harry adored Louis' wealth, despite the title. Because if it isn't obvious yet, Harry didn't just love Louis for his money. It had been quite blatant Harry did not need his richness, did not beg for materials to be purchased for him. This song wasn't about sugaring or much worse, gold-digging, but rather about Harry's adoration for Louis' brilliance. Even if he sometimes is problematic, is admittedly a part time drug user and can be controlling at times, Louis is no doubt an intellect on top of all that. He can break Harry in just a blink of an eye, can ruin Harry in one swift movement, and at the same time definitely can make Harry give everything up, only if he asked.

Louis is Harry's everything, a once in a lifetime jockpot, his ever million dollar man.

_You said I was the most exotic flower // Holding me tight in our final hour_

_I don't know how you convince them and get them, but // I don't know what you do, it's unbelievable // And I don't know how you get over, get over // Someone as dangerous, tainted and flawed as you_

_One for the money, and two for the show // I love you honey, I'm ready, I'm ready to go // How did you get that way? I don't know_

_You're screwed up and brilliant // Look like a million dollar man // So why is my heart broke?_

_You got the world but baby at what price? // Something so strange, hard to define_

_It isn't that hard boy to like you or love you // I'd follow you down down down // You're unbelievable // If you're going crazy just grab me and take me // I'd follow you down down down, anywhere anywhere_

There's only one track left to complete it, the EP. Harry thought of adding Off to the Races in it just to spite his first listeners, but. Well, the directors said it had to be rather less...explicit. Off to the Races is kinda a bit about submitting yourself to your dominant completely, so...

But well, Harry to this day is still working on convincing them he didn't sign up to be some goodie-goodie artist with a squeaky clean background or reputation. He wants to come off seductive, arousing and subby.

Harry's aware Louis is supporting him on that decision altogether.

~*~

**_L O U I S_ **

He stands in the middle of their room as he tries and think about where he'd put his paintbrush last night, looking around this messy excuse for a bedroom, locating said _important_ item.

There are shirts scattered everywhere--socks, shoes, thongs and a couple of unopened condom packets, _Jesus fucking Christ_ \--and Louis is just. He's so done, okay? He's cold (mostly because he's naked all over, the exhibitionism his own fucking fiancé rubbed off on him being on the works), he's frustrated because of looking for stupid lost things, and he's just. He's so fucking done. Sometimes being both old and anxious is...a pain. A fucking pain.

He needs his paintbrush. If only he can cry for help, go all, "Harry, baby? Have you seen my paintbrush? I need it now, oh mon Dieu!"

But no, because like, Harry's at their kitchen at the moment, cooking them some breakfast, and well, Louis just wants to get back to his latest painting of Harry, really, just wants to continue and _finish_ it, especially right now that he's flooding with inspiration at this very minute.

Seeing the beauty of the ocean over the balcony of their bedroom, which is located at the fourth floor of their beach house, and then having envisioned its nature at an early, wonderful morning, just happened to have brought inspiration to Louis' artist mind. And that is why he's so eager to paint anyway. The theme he's doing as of the moment, in favour of Harry's recent prettiness and doll-like--or more like Disney princess-like appearance--is called A Mermaid's Dream. Yes, he's painting Harry and his everything, and then he'll give him beautiful fishtails from waists down.

So far he's given him a pretty lilac one with glitters on it, letting Mermaid Harry sit on a massive ocean stone with his long curly hair being blown to his back by the wind; the second one is a blue tail with green seashells lining up its hips and down to its terms, Mermaid Harry skipping up the deep blue ocean like the free bird he is; then lastly, a bright yellow one with pink sequences on its knees part and down, Mermaid Harry resting by the seashore and combing his beautiful long hair.

Harry has seen the lot of them, Louis' finished creations all tucked in on his walk-in closet full of HarryHarryHarry paintings, and he loves every bit of each. Well, obviously, Louis is proud. He's never been more proud of himself, really. This theme yet is his most favourite, his most precious for now, so thus yes, he's frustrated and pissed.

Frustrated and pissed at himself, mostly. Because where the fuck is his paintbrush?

He looks down on his limping cock as he puts both hands on each hip, feeling the coolness of his engagement ring against his skin. He sighs, looking around, still.

Louis starts to pace around the room then, kicking around and occasionally running a hand across his face, feeling the roughness of his own beard. " _Putain. Où es-tu bordel, petite merde_ (Fuck. Where the fuck are you, you little frump.)"

As he does just that, suddenly, he sees on his peripheries the LED of his phone blinking like mad. He sees it's a color red. _Freya_. Louis drags himself there then, where his phone is lying, which is atop the nightstand. Once he gets there, Louis snatches the thing and unlocks it, crouching down to peek under the bed for his _fucking paintbrush._

Okay, look. It's not like Louis has ran out of painting equipments, right, but that particular paintbrush he's looking for is _the_ paintbrush that fits perfectly, as always, for Harry's majestic hair on his masterpieces, so. So _yeah_.

Anyway.

**_Salut papa! Comment vas-tu? Comment vas ton mignon petit copain? Ou plutôt ... Bientôt-futur-époux copain? Haha! Enfin bref, je voulais juste te demander comment tu allais. Tu me manques, papa! Je t'aime xxxx Freya_ ** **(Hi, dad! How are you? How's your pretty boyfie? Or should I say... soon-to-marry boyfie? Haha! Anywhoooo, just dropping by to ask how you are. Missing you, dad! Love you xxxx Freya)**

Louis smiles at his phone. And he smiles bigger when, " _Enfin!_ (Finally!)" He grabs on his paintbrush found under the bed and scrambles back up to his feet.

He sets his phone down on the nightstand once again and pads toward his walk-in closet. From inside, he takes a canvas and then his used palette, squishes a couple more post paints on some that needs refill, and then goes back over the bed where his phone lies nearby. He dials Freya's number, puts his phone on loudspeak.

She answers on the fourth. " _Salut, papa!_ (Hi, dad!)" Freya beams, and Louis has to contain himself from wincing so much, all because painting the love of his life--whom he fucks--while naked and then having to hear his daughter from all the way to his Foster Childhood's hometown is just...odd. And weird.

Whatever.

" _Salut, mon cœur. Je vais bien d'ailleurs_ (Hello, honey. I am fine, by the way)," he answers evenly anyway, thoughts drifting back to Harry, " _Nous deux, merci de l'inclure. Donc, comment vas-tu? Comment vont tes cours?_ (We both are, thank you for including him. So, how are you? How's school?)"

Freya is giggling before she's responding back (must've some sort of company), " _C'est super à entendre, papa. Et hum, les cours ça va pour le moment. J'ai rencontré de nouvelles personnes. Tout le monde a été gentil et juste-- tout va bien ici. J'ai toujours voulu faire ça._ (That's great to hear, dad. And uhm, school's going well so far. Met a couple new people. Everyone's been kind, and just--everything's going well here. Always wanted to do this.)" Freya has gone back to Paris with Valeria (remember Louis' most loyal maid?) a few months ago, and she's residing now on her new apartment there as far as Louis' been informed, finally taking up the course she's always dreamed of working on: Fashion Designer. Louis is actually so proud of her. " _Et toi alors? Comment va le nouveau thème? Tu rends le beau fiancé encore plus beau qu'il ne l'est déjà?_ (How about you, though? How's the new theme going? Making pretty fiancée prettier than he already is?)"

And see, if Freya isn't his daughter, Louis would've snarled at her already. It's quite blatant that she still, after finding out the fact she's about having Harry as her new dad in the future, fancies the American.

But alas, Louis can't just straight up tell her off. Kids will always be kids. And besides, Louis can't fully blame her, Harry's a sex god; very otherworldly (Louis' main description of him), a sinful beauty to have walked amongst the mortals, an alleged angel in disguise... No one would've survived.

Anyway.

Smiling at his painting as he's once and for all started on it again, illustrating Harry's lovely curls using the most luscious browns he has, Louis answers his daughter, again, calmly, " _Tout se passe à merveille, chérie. Vraiment à merveille._ (Going brilliant, honey. Way too brilliant.)" _I'll be making more millions, is what is happening here. Because you know what, my non-biological daughter? I can move mountains with your soon-to-be new dad's beauty just by painting him. It's incredible._

She muses on the other line, and Louis thinks _same_. " _Oh... Je connais ce ton. Ça doit vraiment vraiment bien se passer_ (Oh... I know that tone of voice. Must be going really, really spectacular.)"

_Oh indeed, Freya, indeed._ "Yep."

" _Et bien, bonne chance! Je dois y aller maintenant, papa. J'ai cours cet après midi, je dois revoir quelques devoirs_ (Well, wishing you luck on that! I gotta get going now, dad. I've got classes this afternoon, need to review some of my homework.)"

" _Oh bien sûr, mon cœur. Je ne te retiens pas_ (Oh, sure, honey. Don't let me keep you.)"

" _Okay! On se parle bientôt alors! Salut! J't'aime!_ (Mmkay! Talk to you soon then! Bye! Love ya!)"

" _Je t'aime aussi_ (As I love you.)" They hang up. Louis focuses on his work.

Moments pass, the birds have migrated on another current, and Louis' lost track of time. He's been so glued to what he's doing that when he's sniffed in some distinct aroma of a mixture of eggs and butter his lovely baby is making all the way from their kitchen, he kinda sorta closed his eyes in bliss and inhaled sharply like a food-deprived maniac. He's sure he looked kinda obscene doing just that, given that when he opened his eyes, the look on his dishevelled state reflecting on their full-length wall mirror across their bed is a bit...well, sex-hazed wise _morbid_.

Louis needs Harry to hurry up so they can eat, and then he can finally eat _him_ afterwards. He's not done with him, even when they've just been their rabbits selves not too long ago. He can even still smell Harry's come on his hairy chest, Jesus Christ.

If he thought that being engaged again would just be another step in a relationship without any feel to it since he's already once gone through it from way back with Phil, well, Louis knows now just how wrong he is about that. Because apparently, being engaged with Harry Styles is a whole different sensation for Louis' end. Louis feels rather young and giddy again with it--with just the thought of owning Harry _harder_ this time around and all that, having a family with him someday somehow, about making him his _baby_ forever, and... everything! Just everything that goes with marriage with Harry Styles, quite. It's making Louis a million times ecstatic, hyperactive, and like, always sexually driven. He feels like taking care of Harry and his perky bum all the damn time, kiss that mouth made to suck, tangle his fingers through those luminous curls that'd gone longer throughout the days and months they'd been lovers.

And to put it simply, this whole engagement thing is turning Louis into the man he's always known himself as. The romantic one, the caring one, the sex-lovin' one, which is a bonus, really. Not the man he once had been--back when he and Phil annulled, that is.

Everything and anything with Harry is a good sign, a good thing. And Louis honest to fuck-all plans on sticking with him for the rest of his breathing moments.

Luckily so, Louis can fulfill that now and he's not just talk anymore, because talk is cheap, isn't it? He and Harry are finally living together. In Brooklyn, of course. A beach house near Coney Island. Louis has once promised Harry he will make this teenage dream happen for him, so he is. There's nothing more important right now but to make the best boy in the world the happiest. Louis even made sure Harry met every single person in his life, especially when the boy once admitted he'd gone stale on the mouth when he realized that him and Nick--Louis' own best friend--weren't really close, because back then their relationship only revolved around sex and drugs, involving no one else like they were ever so temporary. Louis, of course, did something about it pronto; he couldn't take seeing Harry all down and forlorn.

Thus he called Nick up and made an arrangement with him and Harry, for them all to hang out. In the end, they bonded over made spliffs and Lolita 1997 at Nick's pad, only around California, spent two straight days there just for the weekend. Harry had been so happy they got along just fine, him and Nick, felt reassured and alas, at ease.

On another note; back from when Louis had launched his first sultry themed gallery filled of Harry's nakedness and personified beauty, Harry wasn't able to meet one of the important people in Louis' life. Which is Liam, his event managing assistant. Having learned that, Louis made sure they attended at least one of the many press cons Louis had to be at. And it happened; Harry met Liam. The lad apologized for not being able to make it due to workload and world travels, saying he would've been there if it wasn't for other agendas. Harry was fine with it--they chatted and got along quickly, laughing about shared silly jokes and singing songs Louis didn't really understand. Liam praised Harry countless times too, he'd seen Louis' paintings of him, from when they were at Coney Island most especially. Because those were the hidden ones Louis didn't include in his first launched Harry-centric gallery.

By the time Louis' halfway done with his new painting of Mermaid Harry number four, finished with his long curls that's draped over his shoulders and down, covering his boobs, Harry himself, as in the real Harry, comes strolling in inside their bedroom holding a tray of their breakfast complete with a flower vase and glasses of milks. Louis has the urge to stop midway with putting mint-colored seashells on Mermaid Harry's peach fishtail just to face the direction of where Harry walked in, drinking in the delicious sight of _him_.

Looking like the right minx he is, wearing the French maid costume Louis bought him weeks ago--with the whole frilly headband and ribbon tied under his chin going it by to perfect the attire--because _Louis himself begged_ that he wears it for him, Harry makes his dramatic slow 'seducing' entrance and breaks into a grin as he nears Louis, dimples popping out. He's got that sex-hazed look in his eyes, heavy-lidded and cheeks flushed, and Louis knows just why that is...given the fact he's the one that's done that. But of course _he_ did that--he's Harry's fiancé! _Fookin' owns that fine ass._

"Look at you," Harry drawls, setting the tray down on the bed and careful not to ruin its posture, eyes never leaving the sight of Louis, "all bare and sexy before me."

Putting down his paintbrush and palette, Louis meets Harry halfway in a languid stride and takes him by the waists, can't quite keep himself from checking and checking him out. He slips a hand under Harry's skirt and lets his palm rest against the warm flesh of Harry's meaty thigh, while Harry on the other hand puts his arms around his neck. "Look at _you_ , did you mean?" Louis rasps, lips an inch away from Harry's ear. He opens his mouth and bites at it a little, reducing Harry into a giggly cute maid.

Manhandling him only takes a bit of kissing along his throat, running his fingers through Harry's curls and tugging hard, and Harry's already going pliant and subby in Daddy's arms. It's marvelous, that. Louis knows this is what being engaged can do in just a short span of time. Harry's never been more responsive and submissive.

Trailing his fingers underneath Harry's soft thigh, all shaven and smooth against Louis' pads, and until he can finally feel the panties he's wearing, _the right minx_ , Louis tugs on the garter and uses his index and middle fingers to push at the buttplug he put in Harry three hours ago when they fucked this morning, still filled with his come. He smiles wickedly.

"Lou," Harry purrs. He actually _purred_ , and Louis has to fix him a look as they level their gazes, noses almost brushing. "Hi," Harry whispers, green eyes darker than usual, cheeks pink and lips parted as though asking to get wrecked. Well damn. Louis' breath hitches against his throat, because _fuck, what a sight, that_.

"Hello to you. So fucking pretty for daddy, baby," he growls out, lowly and raspy now, and then the next is that he's snogging him senseless, hungry for his lips, wanting to get lost in the sweet taste of them. Harry whimpers softly, feeling Louis' fingers still pushing on the buttplug further in his bumhole, but was quick to fight back nonetheless--was just as eager as he kissed Louis back, hard. Louis groans against their lapping mouths, once limp cock hardening in between his thighs and Harry's lifted skirt.

As they part from kissing, both panting and breathless, Harry manages to hiss out, arms still hanging around Louis' neck limply, "Cooked you your favourite, Lou. How about we eat first, yeah?"

"And then I can take care of you after?" Louis twists the buttplug slumped tightly around Harry's rim, earning himself a strangled moan from the boy. He can feel a bit of his come leaking out of it and fuck if that isn't the hottest albeit grossest thing ever.

"Absolutely," Harry squeaks out, toes curling in his doll shoes.

Louis sighs, fonding. "Absolutely, what?"

"Absolutely, daddy."

Leaning in, Louis kisses his nose, and then his chin, purposefully missing his lips so it effectively elicits a cute grumpy whine from Harry. "Later, after we eat, oui?" Harry pouts like a kitten--Louis' pretty kitten. "You are too cute, mon amour."

"Cute is for puppies, Lewis..." Harry drawls, rolling his eyes playfully.

Louis chuckles at him, finally letting go and going toward _the_ chair, picking up his towel and wrapping it around his naked body. "You're right... because you're a kitten, right? My kitty."

Harry makes a face, flopping gently down on their bed, fully aware of the tray. "Meow," he mocks purr, wiggling his ass against the mattress because of the buttplug that he mercilessly can _feel_.

Louis only laughs harder now, seeing him adjusting like that, " _Roar_ ," countering back.

~*~

Louis and Harry savor their meal. As per usual, it was brilliant. Louis thinks it's safe to say he'll be fine both health and hunger wise, as long as Harry's here to keep him.

With Harry's tripod stood at the foot of their bed, the camera all set for a show they're bound to film for themselves, Louis requests Harry to put their plates away together with their emptied glasses of juice and the tray first, before they spring into action and be the stars of their very own porn movie. That said and done, and with Harry already sprawled across their bed, Louis unties the towel from his waists as he opts for not tearing his gaze away from Harry's posture before him.

He's smiling at Louis, lazily so, usual Bambi eyes lidded and hazy looking. Louis racks his gaze from Harry's head to toe, doll shoes tucked away now, only because Harry didn't want to stain the bed sheets. Louis idly thinks he would've volunteered to remove them shoes himself, just as he's started pumping on his dick.

Walking toward his fiancé, whose head is rested against their propped up pillows by the headboard, lips parting slowly as he nears him, Louis can't help notice how nicely his pretty face is contoured by the glimmering sunbeams, the Cityscape on the right side of their bedroom shown by their sliding window accentuating the view before him, making everything the whole more beautiful. Louis is a painter so it only makes sense that he thinks this way. He knows these kind of things, acknowledges them like it's second nature to him... So he appreciates this very much.

He's actually really glad that even after what happened with him and Anne and Harry, and also, the confinement in the hospital back from all those months ago, still, Anne gave them her blessings--for their engagement and overall relationship--and let them move in together like this. Louis, of course, picked this place himself. To be at a wonderful beach house so they can be near Coney Island and its excellent boardwalk, be Harry's official dream granter. So now they're living the dream; Harry living his by residing nearby his favourite dreamland, and Louis living his, just by being right by Harry's side alone. It's a win-win. Plus the fact that Gemma really seems to like him as well.

"Get in here already," Harry whines from the bed, snapping Louis out of his reverie.

Knees hitting the bed, Louis climbs up it and crawls his way over Harry's body, hand slipping under his skirt once again and pulling its hem up. He meets Harry halfway, lips crashing against each other's. They make out for a while, with Harry's fists balled on Louis' bare chest, and Louis' hands kneading Harry's thighs.

Pulling away for breath, Louis searches Harry's eyes before instructing, voice husky, "At the count of three, I want you out of your costume..." Harry blinks at him, biting his lip. Louis shakes his head as if to warn him. Harry quits biting his lip then. "One..." Harry without further ado scrambles from his position underneath Louis and tugs on his costume, pulling it up and off him. "Two..."

Left with nothing but his knickers now, Harry once again settles back down under Louis' towering body, hands all gathered against his chest. "Done," he mumbles, gazing innocently up at Louis.

Louis smirks. "Three." And then he's leaning down again, capturing Harry's mouth with his, one hand roaming up Harry's shaven thigh, the other feeling up his lace panties to search for the buttplug. Once found, Louis wastes no time and pulls it off Harry's hole. They stop kissing at that as Louis sits back down to be in between Harry's spread legs, having a good look at his leaking bumhole. "Such a pretty peach," he murmurs.

All flushed and pink, already a bit writhing against the sheets, obviously seeking out any kind of friction for his pleasure, Harry looks at Louis in a pleading demure and puckers his lips. "Daddy...please just, do something?"

Nodding his head, Louis reaches out and touches Harry's puckered rim with two of his dainty fingers, looking quite spent and stretched already, but of course, thanks to the rose gold jewel-headed buttplug. Remembering they're actually filming this, Louis sort of looks behind him and makes a face at the camera. And then uses his own come in Harry's hole as his lube, inserting his fingers inside. He hears Harry take a sharp inhale almost instantaneously, making him turn back around properly to fuck him good and steady with just his two digits. "Looks so pretty like this, H."

Leaning down, Louis pulls out of Harry and tugs on his knickers. Harry arches his back quickly with that, helping Louis take the thing off him. Once the terms slip a bit down, Harry's already hardened cock springs out, red and thick and craving for attention. Legs flapping around, while Louis pulls at his knickers, Harry kicks once and lets the garter plush material fly to the ground. Louis is back in between his spread thighs in no time.

Feeling him up as he leans down, Louis puts hands under Harry's thighs to heft them up, so his head is trapped in between, and then--he kisses along their inner spots. Harry preens, breathing erratically as Louis' two days worth of beard brushes against his meaty flesh. "Fuck, Lou, _ah_ ," he moans out, hands clutching on the sheets.

Louis hums, one hand now pumping on Harry's dick, using the leaking come from Harry's hole as lube for now. "Yes, that's right, baby. 'M goin' t'fuck you so hard your brains will blow..." Putting Harry in his mouth after leaving a couple of lovebites across his milky thighs, as well as beard burns, Louis swallows down in one swift movement as his first strike. Harry moans louder at that.

He tastes of warm skin, Harry, and also smells quite good under Louis' nose, because maybe of the VS knickers he wore just now, still brand new, and Louis fucking loves it, wanna devour it. _Bask_ in it.

Blowing Harry has always been quite a hardship for Louis, given he's not so keen on blowing anyone since it's one of his biggest disliked sex activities, and also the fact that Harry's _huge_ , so it took him a while before he deemed Harry's satisfied with it. Pulling off with some obscene popping sound on his end, Harry's cock all slicked up with his saliva, Louis peers up to once again look at the writhing mess that is Harry; as per usual, he's beautiful and godlike, like this, thighs all peachy and spread, pinkish hole well-prepped and cock aching hard. _Such a sight you are, Harry Styles_ , thinks Louis.

Shifting on the bed, Louis reaches by their nightstand for the lube and condom. And then he comes back. "On your knees, baby," he commands, voice groggy from giving the massive Harry head, giving his tiger-tattooed thigh a pat, because yes, once upon a time he and Harry went down a tattoo parlor to get him one. "I wanna taste you, with my come from this morning still lingering inside you..."

Eager for that like the silly rabbit he is, Harry wobbles up to his knees and bends over. Louis tells him to face the camera and their entire wall mirror, asks him to look at himself while Louis eats him out. Harry obeys, nodding frantically, like an overly excited kid being treated all sorts of gifts on Christmas. Louis can't help grin.

On his hands and knees already, Harry wiggles his ass in front of Louis, as though begging to be acknowledged, which, yeah perhaps. So Louis makes his move, dropping the lube after he's worn the condom on his own rock hard penis. Grabbing on each Harry's ass cheeks, Louis kneads on them and then gives him his first lick. Harry audibly shudders beneath him, ass wiggling again and pushing against him. Louis huffs, "Patience, mon amour..."

Harry answers him with a strangled whine, face buried against the bed sheets.

Leaning in again, Louis parts his lips open as he sticks his tongue out simultaneously, once more licking a long, hard stripe across Harry's hole. Shivering as retaliation, Harry carries himself up by his hands, his back arching alongside it, and--and Louis knows. He knows he's watching himself on their wall mirror, watching himself lose it. Given that, Louis surges and licks on Harry's hole, pushing his tongue inside as far as he can manage, tasting him and the come that's still within him. As expected, Louis tastes himself, can taste Harry raw all the same as well, and yes, Louis is addicted to him.

Moans and groans come out of Harry's throat as Louis finally full-on eats him out, giving his best, hands kneading and spreading Harry's ass cheeks even more for better access. He spanks him once, twice, _thrice_ , while he eats him out good, making Harry squeal just a bit because of the painful yet pleasurable sensation. And then Louis redeems his face afterwards, looking on as Harry's ass go completely red flushed in every spot visible. He's turning crimson right where Louis smacked him, the parts where he left beard burns having crisscross of pinks, and lastly the flushed redness of his tongue-fucked hole.

" _Fuck_ , princess. You look so... so..."

Cheek planted against the bed, curls scattered about and is looking like a great mess, Harry mutters out, eyes fixated on Louis as he cranes his neck just a bit. "So... what, daddy?"

"Obscene, darling," Louis finishes. Harry dimple-smiles, throat all flushed.

His ass is still hoisted up into thin air, flashed proudly right on Louis' face, all ready for him to fuck, dick hard and curved against his belly. Seeing as he's ready, Louis takes the lube from the bed underneath Harry, and squirts some on his palm and spreads it. Harry eyes him do just that, seemingly impatient but being perfectly behaved-- _subby_ \--jaw slacked, mouth hanging open. Noticing that, Louis refrains from leaning in just to kiss him and make his mouth snap shut, instead he secures the condom on his dick, foreskin stretching with the adjustment, and then lubes himself up.

Harry once again looks up to watch them on the mirror, eyes already glued to Louis by the time Louis' peered up just to check on him, making Louis' heart skip a beat. Yes, like a lovesick dog. Their eyes lock on their reflections in the mirror, Louis all but fonding and not having able to keep it in, and then Harry not doing good so much himself as he does the same back to him. They look silly like this, Louis is aware; with Harry on his hands and knees, Louis holding his own cock and lining its head on Harry's rim, both staring at each other on the mirror, a camera rolling and filming everything that's happening.

"I love you," Louis tells Harry's reflection on the mirror.

Harry pouts, eyes widening in awe, and eyebrows knotting together. He almost cooed. "I love you most," he replies.

And then Louis' suddenly pushing in. The face Harry makes just after the first burning stretch is just...phenomenal, and Louis is the lucky bastard who has got to see that. He gets off on the sight of it, together with the tightness of Harry's hole around his thick cock, as well as the warmth it brought. "Always so perfectly tight, baby. _Yes_."

Rocking back into him like he's not hurt at all, Harry reaches around his nape to gather his long hair in just one shoulder, Louis' hips slumping back against his ass, creating slapping obscene sounds. "Fuck--ah-- _yes, daddy_ \--" Harry chants out, words cutting and short breaths hitching, looking at himself on the mirror, probably watching how his cheeks go beet red from being wrecked.

Louis looks down, hands tight on Harry's hips, and watches his cock appear and disappear from Harry's tightening hole as he fucks to him. A few more thrusts, Louis' cock slips out Harry's hole and that makes Harry whine and giggle at the same time. Louis looks at him on the mirror and sticks his tongue out at him, teasing. Lining back up his cock, Louis pushes it in once again, but this time smoothly. Harry takes it in, rocking back into him and finding their own rhythm.

Louis counters back, thrusting harder and faster, holding Harry's thighs tightly, pounding into him hard--going rough. Harry moans loud, throwing his head back at the impact, Louis shivering at how intense that was.

Leaning down, Louis holds onto Harry as he covers himself across his back, still thrusting, pounding hard into him, lips pressed at the back of Harry's neck. "You like this, don't you? Likes it when daddy fucks you like--"

"--a _whore_ ," Harry chokes out, voice hoarse and spent, pretty much breathless and panting. Louis groans at hearing that, cursing in French. Harry's gonna be the death of him.

Now if it wasn't for the fact that he was having so much fun with this, thick cock enjoying the knowledge that at fucking last he'd found Harry's sweet spot and having it hit multiple times with his power thrusts, right hand pumping on Harry's neglected cock, Louis would've probably noticed the sudden change in their rhythm, how suddenly they slowed down and Harry was arching his back too much, because then Louis had just--he just stopped completely...everything screeching to a full halt. But not with his from-dick-to-balls-deep in Harry pulling out just yet though.

Eyes widening, alarmed, Louis looks up just in time to catch Harry looking back at him on the mirror quite already, also wide-eyed and chest heaving madly, mouth formed into a massive _O_. Because fuck, no, why? They're fucked.

"Lou... _Lou_..." Harry breathes, sounding panicky and pleading.

"Dar-darling... calm down, yeah? We'll figure something out," Louis croaks out, sounding more worried than Harry, sounding weak with sheer fear. This has never happened to him before, therefore he knows to himself he doesn't know what to do. He's just trying out his luck. Reaching out on the lube underneath their postures, his dick still connected to Harry, Louis pours some lube in his palm and puts some around the sides of his balls and cock and Harry's rim to make it extra slippery. "Now, relax, baby. Relax... I will release, you relax your mind."

Closing his eyes, Harry nods to obey. "Okay." Louis tries to pull out, holding Harry's ass cheeks as he goes. Nothing's happening. "Fuck, Lou. I--I can't--relax, oh _God_ , fuck, I'm sorry," Harry whimpers.

Louis exhales, sweating madly. He tries again. Nothing.

They try again. Harry won't relax. Louis leans down to kiss him and help him unclench around Louis. No progress.

Moments to it, still no progress. Harry's back is aching. Louis' knees are killing him. Their dick and ass still won't untangle from each other.

"I fucking love you, Harry Styles, no matter what."

"Same, Lou. Love you so much."

"I know. Uhm, I'm gonna call the ambulance for us now."

Harry sighs. "Yeah, alright, you do that."

"Fuck." Louis dials.

After a while, "I'm so sorry, babe," Harry sobs. He's _sobbing_ now, shaking his head weakly.

Louis rubs on his back to soothe him. "No, baby, don't apologize. _Please_. None of this is your fault, okay?"

"I got so giddy. I couldn't relax," Harry continues on, tears streaming down his face. "I was so overwhelmed when you hit my prostate the first few times, I'm so fucking sorry. I'm so weird."

"Harry. Stop beating yourself up, I won't have it-- Hello, yes, good day. I'm Louis Tomlinson, and I need you guys to get here and fast--yes, this is an emergency--I need you people here, quick. Please. Okay. My phone is trackable for important hotlines. Okay, yes, thank you. Be quick! Please!" Louis drops his phone on the bed. "Medics are on their way, baby," he murmurs, rubbing circles on Harry's back.

Harry shakes his head, and Louis has to lean down just to hug him from behind. "I'm so sorry, Lou, I always fuck things up--"

"Hey, _sshh_ ," Louis immediately cuts through, tilting Harry's face and chasing his blabbering mouth; he kisses him hard to effectively hush him. And they stay like that for a while, with Louis trailing his fingers along Harry's tummy, up and down, flicking his nipple and playing with it idly. Harry sighs, and Louis follows that with his own exhalation. "You didn't fuck anything up, darling. It's fine. But hey, this will all be in our camera, and it's going to be..." _What was that word again?_

"Ridiculous?" Harry prompts.

"No, sweetie. Something...positive and adventurous."

"Epic?" Harry deadpans.

Louis beams. " _Oui_. Epic!" Harry sighs again, head dropping on the mattress.

~*~

**_H A R R Y & L O U I S_ **

So one ambulance arrives after quite some time, and a bunch of medics break into their love nest like some troubled men in uniforms, only to wince and cover their eyes later as they take a couple steps back, Harry and Louis still on that doggy style position on their bed, both sweating madly and blushing like crazy. Harry's dick is still hard, Louis can feel it underneath him, and so is he despite he's literally _stuck_ in Harry's hole, and that's just making him even more horny. The fuck.

But anyway, soon enough the medics have conquered the first few seconds of their now-scarred-lives and lend Louis and Harry some help. Louis has to smile wickedly sexy at one point just to appease one of the medics with carrying them both all naked to get to the staircase, because there's no way he will let Harry walk like this--them both--with their knees wobbling, sore from being in that position the entire time.

As they make it to the ground, five to six medics carrying them as though they're one piece of statue, Louis in his life swears this is just about the most epic memory yet to their surely everlasting relationship. And yes, yes he is totally, totally going to marry the shit out of Harry fucking Styles, have lots of babies with him.

(Backtracking a little: Harry deems he'll later on call his manager up to advice them to talk to a PR team, work with making sure this thing that's happened never reaches the public, otherwise his just starting career might just crumble to the ground before it even started.)

(PR team gives the green go signal.) (Harry can finally breathe again.)

 

 

**_~*~ F I N ~*~_ **

 

****

**Baby Loves When Daddy Gets High Official Soundtracks Pro-Lana Del Rey:**

01\. Brooklyn Baby (Ending Song)

02\. West Coast (The Drive To Coney Island)

03\. Shades of Cool (Louis' Past I)

04\. Off to the Races (The Coney Island Scene)

**Baby Loves When Daddy Gets High Official Playlist Pro-Lana Del Rey:**

01\. Lolita (Louis Caught For the First Time)

02\. Gods and Monsters (Harry's Past I)

03\. Carmen (Harry's Past II)

04\. Radio (The Calvin Scene)

05\. Mermaid Motel (Sex Scene at Brooklyn, NY)

06\. Queen of Disaster (Louis Calling On The Cops)

07\. Young and Beautiful (The Gallery Scene)

08\. Million Dollar Man (Louis' Past II)

09\. Yayo (The Shared Joint Scene)

10\. You Can Be The Boss (First Sex Scene at LA, CA)

11\. Bel Air (First Pool Scene)

12\. Lucky Ones (The Epilogue: Talks About Wedding)

13\. Body Electric (Harry's Career)

14\. Diet Mountain Dew (Kinda-Boyfriend Moments)

**Bonus Track:**

01\. Blue Jeans

02\. FourFiveSeconds - (Cover by One Direction)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, hello, you guys!! Oh gosh!! Thank you, thank you so much for tuning in!! I don't know what else to say here, except for thanking y'all profusely. Because finally!! It's finished!! Ended it with a bang, eh? ;) haha Harry's rubbed off on me, yep. Anyway, I just wanna thank a very special person, because she's helped me a lot with this one --and even up to this day still helping me with editing this to perfection-- and also, just because she's a wonderful person in general, my dear ole girl friend, @AllForDimples :~) she was the one behind all the French translations amidst your reading pleasures, because yeah, I ain't French, she is hahaha :3 she's brilliant, amazing, and just, I think I'm in love.
> 
> lol so anyway, come chat with me on kik: schoolgirlharry // or you can also check me out on wattpad with the same username <3

**Author's Note:**

> stories begin at chapter twos, yknow :) so wait til i update! for now give us the love we strive for xxxx


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